


Arcadia Prison Blues

by gorillas_infinity



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Prison, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gang Violence, Gen, Prison, Requited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-25 17:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14982377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorillas_infinity/pseuds/gorillas_infinity
Summary: A terrible mistake leads to Max Caulfield's incarceration for a crime that she has no memory of committing.





	1. Hard Knocks

“You know if the teacher is more than fifteen minutes late then we’re legally allowed to leave, right?” a gangly boy says “That’s like… the law.”

 

The blonde girl sitting next to him giggles, punching him in the shoulder. “Haha, shut up, Roger.”

 

“I’m serious! I read it on the  _ internet _ .” Roger begins stacking his books “If she’s not here in one minute and--” he holds his arm up, pressing the button to illuminate his digital watch “thirty-six seconds then I’m leaving.”

 

“You’re an idiot.” the girl smiles, shaking her head

 

Roger reaches to rub his shoulder. “That hurt, you know.”

 

"I know." one side of the girl's smile cracks a little higher.

 

Roger hunches over his stack of books looking up to the clock above the classroom door. He turns his head down to look at his watch, then back up to the clock, his foot bouncing in anticipation.

 

"Ten… Nine… Eight…" he begins to count down.

 

The blonde girl looks up from her phone, raising a brow at him as the rest of the dozen some odd students continue to talk among themselves.

 

“Six… Five… Four…” Roger continues, sitting on the edge of his seat, “Three! Two!” He stands up, grabbing his books and walking backwards. “Haha yes! I’ll see  _ you _ next week." he spins around and heads to the door.

 

The door’s handle unlatches with a loud click, the door swings open revealing a rather professional looking woman in a black pencil skirt and white button-up blouse holding a large manila envelope. Roger freezes, his goofy grin now mixing with fear. 

 

The woman looks at Roger over her rectangular black-and-white glasses, raising a brow. “Were you going somewhere, young man?”

 

Roger stammers like an idiot, classmate giggling. “I--uh-um-uh… No?”

 

“Then I suggest you find a seat.” the woman turns derisively, her low heels clicking as she walks past Roger toward the high desk at the front of the classroom. Sliding the envelope into the center of the desk, she turns toward the tables of students in front of her. “Tardiness on my part,” she projects her voice to the back of the room, “Is  _ no  _ excuse for insolence.” She leans over the desk, a palm on either side of the envelope. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

The students slur out a disorganized and weary chorus in the affirmative. 

 

“Very good.” she smiles, her dark brown retro bob hairstyle bouncing as she stands straight again. “My name is…” she turns around, scrawling on the blackboard behind her before turning back to face the class “ _ Ms. Jefferson. _ Welcome to 2D Studio Art.” Jefferson walks down the center of the room to a countertop stacked high with sketchbooks. 

 

“This is awesome,” a boy whispers at Roger from the table behind “Easy A and easy on the eyes, man!”

 

A sketchbook lands on the desk in front of the boy with a loud bang causing him to jump in his seat. Jefferson looks down at him with narrow eyes for a fraction of a second before continuing to distribute sketchbooks. 

 

“If you have come to this class looking for an ‘easy’ passing grade,” she speaks to the class as a whole “Then you are in the wrong place.” Returning to the front of the room the stands in front of her desk, opening the envelope as she speaks “I will not have this hallowed workspace reduced to… a den of slackery.” Pulling several sheets from the envelope, Ms. Jefferson uses masking tape to hang one sheet from the left side of the front of her desk.“You are here to learn. To hone your craft. To grow.” She moves to the right, revealing a sketch of an old woman and hanging another sheet. “And as you grow, I will be here to gently guide your progress. A mindful tender.” She moves to the right another step, this time allowing the class to gaze on a sketch of a young man bearing a striking resemblance to their new teacher. “As such,” Jefferson continues, hanging a third sheet in the remaining space, “I will not hesitate to cull from the herd those who prove themselves to be detrimental.” 

 

Ms. Jefferson rounds her desk. Students gasp as their eyes land upon the third sketch, a full body nude of a woman reclining on a couch. From her desk, Ms. Jefferson retrieves a three-ring binder, placing it on her desk. "Let us begin, shall we?" she smiles at the class, the corner of her lips curling at her class's reaction. A rolling metallic sound builds as the binder opens itself. The front cover lands on the desk with a thunderous bang.

 

Sara Jefferson jerks awake, her head flying from her pillow. A quiet "Fuck!" falls from her mouth as she brings herself to her feet and slides her arms back into the top half of the orange jumpsuit that had hung around her waist. Stepping through the opening in the steel bars, she holds her hand up to shield her eyes from the harsh overhead lights. Turning to her right, she joins the shower line. 

 

"Keep it moving, ladies." a guard commands, drawing the ire of the already walking women.

 

The shower line moves ahead of Sara like cuckoo clockwork. Each step another in the inexorable march in the monotonous life of the residents of Pine Bay Correctional Facility. One woman comes out of the showers. One woman goes in. The line moves ahead one step. Repeat ad nauseum. 

 

“ _ At least it's easier to keep clean this way.” _ Sara sighs internally, running her fingers up the side of her short cropped hair.

 

After what feels like an eternity Sara finally makes it into the shower room. Peeling off yesterday’s jumpsuit, she finds an open shower head and turns on the water. With a deep sigh, Sara prepares to let her mind wander and catch what relief it can as the tepid water cascades down her head and over her shoulders. As quickly as the water begins to trickle down Sara’s feet the stream stops. 

 

"Hey, what gives?" a woman on the other side of the room shouts.

 

Another woman violently shakes the shower pipe "C'mon!" she shouts.

 

The rabble of the few women left in the shower dies down, heavy boot steps echoing through the shower hall. 

 

"Clear out ladies. Time to go, yes?" a nasally voice demands from near the door, it's heavy Hebrew accent instantly revealing who cut the water

 

One of the women, still in the buff, stomps toward the door in a huff. “How you gonna do us like that, Green? We gotta get  _ clean _ , yo.”

 

Sergeant Green steps around her. “For this I am sorry. From above the order comes. Conserve water for new inmates.” She makes her way around the room ensuring all of the showers have been turned off. 

 

Sara towels off and heads to the changing room. Throwing her towel in the bin, she pulls a fresh orange jumpsuit from near the top of a short pile. 

 

"C'mon, Green. I'll fight you for the showers. My American boxing against your Jewy kung-fu." the still angry woman speaks loudly enough to be heard from the other room.

 

Shaking her head, Sara exits, walking along the wall of open cells straight into the bathroom. Doing her best to ignore the blatant moans and gasps from the only closed stall in the bathroom, Sara washes her face in the sink, taking sups of cool water by hand. Hand trailing under her glasses, she rubs the bridge of her nose before staring herself down in the mirror.

 

“ _ Calm down. _ ” Sara tells herself “ _ It could be a lot worse. _ ”

 

A loud buzzer sounds, making the woman lost in thought jump. Taking a deep breath to collect herself, Sara gives herself a last once-over in the mirror, combing her fingers through the longer hair at the top of her head before heading back into the hall. Looking down from the second level catwalk Sara finds that the breakfast line is already stretching halfway back across the cellblock.  She turns to her left and keeps walking toward the end of the catwalk. 

 

“ _ The last house on the left… _ " Sara smirks to herself, passing the empty cell that buffers her from the rest of the prison.

 

Rounding the corner into her cell and sitting on the bed, she takes in the view before her. A number of unframed canvases hang from the concrete walls around her. A black and white landscape; tall, crooked trees branching out over an old barn. Another black and white landscape hangs next to it; a pod of whales breaching, a beached whale off center in the foreground. Sara turns her head to look above her cell door, eyes landing on a photo-realistic portrait of a man bearing a striking resemblance to herself.

 

“ _ Oh, dear brother… _ ” A deep sigh builds in Sara’s chest, releasing, her eyes find the floor “ _ What you must think of your baby sister. _ ”

 

The sound of knuckles rapping on steel shakes Sara from her thoughts. Quickly wiping the tear from her eye she turns to see a disheveled looking woman. Her frizzy hair is mostly contained by a knit cap. At least three scarves drape over her run-of-the-mill prison-issued denim shirt.

 

Feigning a smile, Sara speaks. “Hello, Gipsy.”

 

The woman blinks at Sara through her thick square glasses. “You missed breakfast.”

 

“As we’ve discussed, this is by design.”

 

Gipsy shuffles just past the opening to Sara’s cell, holding out a paper cup. “Coffee.”

 

Taking the cup, Sara thanks Gipsy and takes a sip before setting the cup on the floor.

 

"New arrivals soon." Gipsy pushes up her glasses.

"So I've heard." scowls Sara, her thirty second shower fresh in her mind.

 

“Wanna watch with us?”

 

“Watch the bull dykes try to scare some poor girls? Oh yes. What  _ fun _ ." Sara rolls her eyes.

 

The disheveled woman stands awkwardly for a few moments, fidgeting her hands together before hastily retreating. Immediately Sara stands, grabbing the coffee and pouring it into the drain in the middle of the floor. Her foot taps impatiently as the coffee swirls down the drain. She leans sideways against the wall, looking out the one window of her cell. Down below she sees a veritable sea of women clamoring on both sides of a fenced path. Through the bouncing blue bodies, Sara spots the cause of the commotion: a chain of orange-clad women led by Captain Hardt. 

 

The usual dull drone of conversation and recreation grow into a roar as more and more inmates gather in groups to see their new arrivals. Against her better judgment, Sara decides to walk out of her cell, leaning with her hands on the rail just in time to see Hardt lead the women in.

 

“Quiet!” Captain Hardt’s voice booms through the cellblock, instantly bringing the room back to a low murmur.

 

Hardt leads the women down the left side of the cellblock where a man in a light grey suit and a green tie awaits. Most of the women go along without a second thought. Some try to peacock to appear tough to their new block mates. One, in particular, draws Sara's attention. 

 

Fifth in line. Her shoulder-length brown hair spins with each frantic turn of her head. The small framed woman, barely a woman, seems to be panicking. She looks up, then down, then to the side, then ahead, then up to the side, then behind her. Eventually, she turns in Sara's direction. That's when Sara notices her most striking feature: her piercing blue eyes. The girl's gaze lingers on Sara who looks down upon her with slowly widening eyes. When Hardt stops the line her attention focuses on the man in the grey suit.

 

“You’ve already met Mr. Hardt, Captain of the guards.” the besuited man says stepping toward the women. “My name is Mr. Mackey, the warden. Welcome to Pine Bay.”

 

A small whoop sounds among the inmates somewhere in the upper level across from Sara.

 

“Ahah, yes.” Mackey grins, shaking his head and wagging his finger in the direction of the whooping, “Quite enthusiastic about their incarceration here. As I’m sure you will be as well.” Mackey walks down the line of women. “You are here so that you may better yourselves. To build knowledge and skills under our watchful eye. I’m sure Captain Hardt has already explained the rules of our fine establishment. If anything is unclear to you, let me take this opportunity now to clear things up.”

 

"When the fuck do we get to eat?" an olive-skinned woman shackled in line says.

 

The warden lets out a long sigh, using his fingers to smooth down his handlebar mustache. He shakes his head and walks away as Captain Hardt marches up to her.

 

“You eat when we say you eat. You work when we say you work. You sleep when we say you sleep. You got that, you stupid airheaded bimbo?” He shouts inches from her face before delivering a crashing backhand, knocking the woman from her feet. “Get up.” Hardt barks at the woman, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet. “I said get up you walking sack of shit.” He looks at her contemptuously before turning his head “Hernandez! Green! Get these  _ ladies _ cleaned up!" he shouts.

 

Hardt splits the group of new arrivals just behind the young woman whose blue eyes captured Sara's attention. Green takes the reins of her group leading them to the upper level while Hernandez takes his group to the ground floor showers. The girl'sshoulders bunch up as she and the other new inmates disappear through the door and beyond Sara's sight. 

 

* * *

 

Max’s heart careens down into her chest as the bus seems to crawl toward the imposing stone structure before her. “Pine Bay Correctional Facility” she reads, hands and face pressed against the window. The bus stops, a large man in a green uniform walks between the seats to the front of the bus, a black shotgun held firmly in his hands. 

 

"Welcome home, ladies!" the man shouts, grabbing the door handle and flinging it open.

 

Max is pulled to her feet by the shackles linking her to the other women on the bus. Without any choice, she shuffles in line and off the bus. Immediately her ears are bombarded with whoops and hollers of all manner of women pressed against the chain-link fence lining both sides of the narrow path that leads to the building marked "Cellblock A". Several voices call above the others that Max can hear.

 

“Oooh look at all the new fish!” 

 

“Break me off a piece of that!”

 

“Is that Maxwell Silver Hammer?”

 

“You gonna love it here! Haha!”

 

Max’s eyes widen in panic, her head turning frantically looking for some magical escape. 

 

“ _ I shouldn’t be here! _ ” the voice in Max’s head screams “ _ Get me out of here. Please, God, get me out of here! _ ”

 

The gruff uniformed man leading the line pushes open the double doors leading the women inside. The sound of the raucous crowd inside hits Max like a physical wave. 

 

Max’s head turtles into her shoulders in fear as the man’s voice booms through the open air of the cellblock.

 

"Quiet!" he shouts, bringing the crowd to a dull chatter.

 

Head turning towards any sound that catches her ear, Max spins frantically. 

 

"See you later, sugar." a squat black woman laughs, Max thinks at her in particular, and makes a kissy face.

 

"Gonna have fun breaking you girls in!" a tall blonde shouts from the other side, drawing Max's eyes.

 

Voice after voice calls out and each time Max’s head turns to follow. Looking over her right shoulder and up, she sees a woman in orange looking down at her from the catwalk silently with her arms crossed. The woman’s eyes widen as they meet Max’s. For a moment a familiar face flashes in place of the woman looking down on her. The clinking of the chains ends as the line stops before a man in a light grey suit. 

 

“You’ve already met Mr. Hardt, Captain of the guards,” he says, directing toward the man who led Max into the prison, “Captain of the guards. I am Mr. Mackey, the warden. Welcome to Pine Bay.”

 

Max’s head fills with static as she tries to process her situation while Mr. Mackey drones on.

 

“ _ Nathan bathroom blood hammer butterfly blood blood so much blood Nathan trial hammer silver hammer blood all that blood _ ” Max’s head feels like it might explode from the thoughts running through it. A sensation that hasn’t stopped since that October day where in what felt like the blink of an eye she went from taking a picture of a butterfly to kneeling over the bloody body of Nathan Prescott.

 

“You eat when we say you eat. You work when we say you work. You sleep when we say you sleep. You got that, you stupid airheaded bimbo?” Captain Hardt’s voice shakes Max from her trance. 

 

Max breathes through her teeth, deathly afraid as Hardt backhands the woman before pulling her back to her feet. 

 

"Hernandez!" Hard shouts, drawing a Mexican guard, "Green!" he shouts again, bringing over an olive-skinned woman. "Get these  _ ladies _ cleaned up!” Hardt walks over, unlocking a heavy lock between Max and the woman to her right. 

 

Green takes hold of the chain tying together Max and four other women, leading them further into the block. She leads the group up a flight of stairs and into a grimy tiled room before unchaining them and removing their shackles and manacles. 

 

"To be coming off with the clothes now, ladies." Green commands them.

 

Some of the women comply, obviously having gone through the process before. Max hesitantly removes her Department of Corrections orange jumpsuit, holding her bare chest in her arms covered only by her briefs. 

 

Green walks up to her “All of clothes off.”

 

Max grimaces as she bends at the waist, using her thumb to hook the band of her underwear and pulling them over her shaking knees before stepping out of them. Before she can stand back up, she gets a huge shot of white powder in her face and over her head. 

 

"What is that?" Max coughs and chokes on the particulate matter hanging in the air.

 

"Delousing powder," Green says, throwing another scoop in the face of the woman next to Max. She moves down the line giving dousing each woman in delousing powder. 

 

"This shit supposed to burn?" the woman slapped by Hardt asks.

 

Picking up a large hose, Green turns to her “Is how you know is working. Against wall now, ladies.”

 

Reluctantly the women turn, bracing themselves against the wall. Green releases the valve holding the water back, spraying the women down. Airhead gets pushed forward by the water, slamming in the wall but manages to hold herself up. Max hopes she’s only imagining things when the spray of water lingers on her, the rushing water feeling as though it's tearing off her skin. 

 

“Ah! Ahh!” she winces as the stream rolls around her shoulders, splashing her face. 

 

“Following me now.” Green snaps her fingers in the air walking into an adjoining room. 

 

The ladies follow, the seasoned veterans waltzing brazenly, Max and the other newbies trying to preserve their modesty.

 

“For you to be wearing.” the ex-Israeli commando indicates stacks of briefs, ribbed tank tops, denim slacks, and denim shirts. “If to not be finding size, orange jumpsuits to wear.”

 

Max’s hand cling to a tank top, quickly pulling it over her head with one hand, the other covering the innocence between her legs. With even more haste she pulls up a pair of plain white briefs. Then a denim shirt. Then denim slacks. They hang off of her almost comically. 

 

“Jumpsuit.” Green points at Max before tossing her an orange jumpsuit emblazoned with “Pine Bay Correctional Facility” across the back. “Your size ordered soon.”

 

Max sheds the baggy denim garments, stepping into the orange suit, pulling the back up over her shoulders and buttoning it all the way from the waist to the neck. Green hands each woman a bedroll and motions for them to follow her. She leads them into the usual changing room and out to the second floor of the cell block. Drawing onlookers, they make their way around to the end of the far side with Green assigning cells on the way back around to the other side. 

 

“This is your cell, here.” Green says to Max, now the only inmate following her, as they walk up to the empty cell next to Sara’s “Become comfortable.” She tells Max, patting her bottom and shoving her inside. 

 

Max drops her bedroll on the hard steel frame. She sits, her fingers digging into the lumpy mattress. Her chest thumps as her breaths shorten and quicken, thoughts running through her head faster and faster. 

 

“ _ I shouldn’t be here I want to go home I’m so scared I can’t do this I’m going to die _ ” Max’s brain screams at her in rapid succession as her head shakes back and forth and tears well in her eyes. She slumps to the side, pulling her knees to her chest and sobs as silently as possible.

 

* * *

 

After the women disappear from Sara’s sight she retreats to the comfort of her room. She knees in front of a cardboard box in the corner of her cell rifling through it and taking stock of her supplies. 

 

“ _ I need blue. I never needed blue before… _ ” she makes a mental note.

 

Grabbing a pad and charcoal, Sara meticulously returns the rest of the supplies to their proper place in the box. Sitting on the bed, she rubs her temple admiring her “gallery”, unable to flush the image of bright blue eyes from her mind. Using the charcoal she sketches pairs of eyes frantically until she’s happy with the results.

 

“This is your cell, here.” Sara overhears Sergeant Green say, “Be comfortable.” 

 

Sara sits in silence, drumming her fingers on her knees waiting for she doesn’t even know what. A soft sobbing carries through the air. After a moment of consideration, she pushes herself to her feet, turning out of her cell and into the next. Sara freezes when she realizes the sobs are coming from. The girl with piercing blue eyes lies in a crumpled heap on her bed, head buried in her arms. Sara lingers in the doorway, fingers curling around the bars, her eyes studying the girl’s delicate form. 

 

“I know this must be a frightening experience,” Sara starts, inching into the cell “But you  _ are _ going to be okay.”

 

Max sniffles, giving no response beyond that. Sara makes her way closer and closer. Max flinches as Sara’s fingertips brush her hair, resigning as Sara tenderly strokes Max’s brown locks. It seems to Sara that the girl is beginning to calm under her gentle touch. 

 

"Now just what in the bonnie blue fuck is going on here?" A harsh Irish-accented voice rings out.

 

Max tenses under Sara's fingers, Sara's head turning to find a trim blonde woman.

 

"She is having a… difficult time adjusting." Sara tells the woman, nonplussed.

 

"Well, you can be on yer merry way now. We'll take care of her." the woman rolls her head back, her way of telling Sara ‘get out of here'.

 

Sara's eyes narrow as she thinks. "Why do you care, Haley?"

 

The blonde steps into Max’s cell “This is Caulfield, yeah?” she looks down at the girl on the bed “You’re Max Caulfield?”

 

Max sheepishly nods her head, never lifting it from the mattress.

 

"I'd say she falls under me pervue then, being a fellow daughter of the emerald isle." Haley raises a brow.

 

“I think perhaps it would be best for you to go.” Sara rubs her fingers against her palm “I am confident that she will be fine without you and your Clovers.”

 

“Aye, well I’m confident  _ yee’d _ best be going before I send ye on a one way trip over the railing.”

 

Spitting her words through gritted teeth, Sara chokes out her response, “Fine.” She pats Max’s shoulder gently before walking past Haley and back to her own cell. She grabs her charcoal and whips it at the wall, shattering it and leaving a black smudge on the grey concrete. Taking a deep breath, Sara’s fingertips press into her palms as she forces herself to calm down. 

 

"Goddammit," she mutters under her breath before violently plopping onto her own bed. "The fucking Clovers are already digging their claws into that poor girl," Sara speaks quietly to nobody, grabbing the biggest chunk of charcoal she can find. Her hand tears across the pad frantically, hewing rough shapes and vague forms.

 

“Hey.” a friendly voice pulls Sara from her entranced drawing “You okay?”

 

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sara’s head jerks to the voice. Searching for words, she finally responds “Fine, Ashwood.”, flipping her pad closed to conceal the drawings. After a moment Sara realizes Ashwood isn’t alone. “Make a new friend, did we?”

 

“Oh, uh, yeah. This is Hikohito. She’s new.” Ashwood cups her hand over her mouth and whispers loudly “She’s a Japaneese!” Hikohito rolls her eyes as Ashwood continues in her normal volume. “Wanted to ask if she could sit with us in the mess.” Ashwood gives a half-hearted smile. 

 

Sara's mouth opens, drowned out by the buzzer ringing to indicate lunch. "Fine," she says curtly, rising gracefully to her feet. She walks tall past Ashwood and Hikohito, stopping as Hayley walks out of Max's cell, her arm around the trembling girl. Ashwood stops behind Sara.

 

“Oh, shit.” Ashwood looks at Sara “Is that that hammer girl?”

 

“I believe so.” 

 

“With Haley?”

 

“Not entirely of her own volition, I’m sure.”

 

“Is she join--”

 

“Evidently.” Sara cuts Ashwood off, her words hot on Ashwood’s ears

 

Ashwood bites her tongue and follows Sara, Hikohito behind her, down to the mess hall. After an interminable wait in line, Sara, flanked by Ashwood and Hikohito on either side, makes her way to her usual table where Gipsy is already sitting. Sara eats in silence as conversations roll on around her. 

 

Her eyes are drawn to the orange jumpsuit in line with a muscular arm around its shoulders. She watches as Haley takes Max to the Clover's favorite table. Their saccharine behavior to their new inductee turns Sara's stomach as she sips her tea with two hands, fogging up her glasses. 

 

"Why do you wear the orange? Are you new too?" Hikohito asks Sara directly.

 

Ashwood cringes “Whoa, Hiko, girl, you can’t just be askin’ people questions like that.”

 

Gipsy leans across the table from the opposite corner of Hikohito, replying calmly but with serious intent “She’s a treefrog.”

 

"Treefrog?" Hikohito turns her head in confusion.

 

Sara smirks around the rim of her cup, tilting it back upright. “Certain creatures, the poison dart frog notable among them, have evolved bright warning coloration. To this end, they stand out among their environment.”

 

Ashwood grins, nodding “Basically she’s saying ‘Here I am. Don’t fuck with me.’ So don’t.”

 

"Oooh, she is?" Hikohito's mouth opens in a shocked "O"

 

Sara gives a deep nod.

 

“H-Hey. I was eating that.” a new voice perks Sara’s ears up. Her eyes are pulled to the Clovers’ table. Just in time to see the rest of the Clover’s pick over Max Caulfield’s lunch tray. 

 

"‘Appens to everybody their first lunch, squirt." Haley elbows Max's arm, taking a big bite out of Max's muffin while a fat woman at the table scoops Max's macaroni onto her own tray.

 

A knot forms in Sara’s stomach. She pushes herself to her feet, bussing her tray and walking out of the mess hall past Captain Hardt. 

 

* * *

 

Feeling unusually cooped up in her cell, Sara makes her way down to the communal rec room hoping to find inspiration for her art. 

 

"You gotta choke up on it." Sara hears Haley's voice across the room.

 

Sara sees Haley standing behind Max at the foosball table. Max seems to be smiling as she learns the game, her mind getting the smallest of reprieves. 

 

“ _ Maybe they won’t treat her so badly… _ " Sara ponders.

 

"Like this." Sara can hear the grit in Haley's voice as Haley pushes herself into Max and Max into the table. Max winces, face going red as one of the handles pushes roughly against her pelvis. 

 

"Hey!" Hernandez's voice comes from the guard pod "None of that."

 

Haley holds her arms out, backing away from Max with the cheekiest grin on her face. Sauntering to the other side of the table, she engages Max in a game. The dinner buzzer goes off, drawing the women back to the mess hall. Again Sara watches at the Clovers piecemeal Max’s meal among themselves. Sara stands abruptly, balling her hands into her pockets. Gipsy grabs at Sara’s tray, taking the food and stacking her tray on top, thanking Sara for the extra.

 

Making her way past Hernandez and into the cellblock, she ascends the stairs to the second level and walk down the long catwalk toward her room. Looking over her shoulder, she ducks into the cell just before hers. Her hands come out of her pockets, sliding an apple and a cookie under the pillow. Checking again that nobody sees her, Sara walks in stride to her own cell. Soon after the majority of the cellblock floods in, heading back to their cells for the night. 

 

Captain Hardt’s heavy bootsteps echo through the cell block as every cage in the building rolls closed. “Lights out!” he shouts, the lights dropping in waves, each with a loud clang.

 

Sara sits on the floor between the end of her bed and the bars of her cell, back against the cool concrete. She listens to the women call out and taunt the newbies again as they had throughout the day. Under the whoops and taunts, she picks out the cronch of teeth biting into an apple. Sara smiles weakly at the sound, continuing to listen as the cronches slow and turn into sobs. After a long while the sobs die out, the girl having finally exhausted herself Sara presumes. 

 

Hanging her head in her hand, elbow propped on her knee, Sara sighs. “Sleep tight, little bird.”


	2. The Snitch

Sara groans, smacking her lips as she wakes up. Looking to either side she suddenly remembers falling asleep against the wall. Pushing herself to her feet, Sara stretches her arms back. Her vertebrae crack loudly.

 

“ _I suppose a prison mattress is still a better alternative to concrete…_ " she thinks to herself.

 

The wakeup buzzer sounds high overhead. With a loud clang the cell doors of Cellblock A roll open. Sara steps out of her cell, turning to her right just in time to watch Max stumble out, shielding her eyes from the bright lights above.

 

"Shower time, ladies!" a guard's voice calls from somewhere unseen.

 

Sara walks behind Max who moves with all the nervousness one would expect of a first-time prison inmate. Sluggishly, Max moves forward maintaining a safe distance from the woman in front of her. As usual, the wait in line seems interminable. Finally reaching the door, Max stands before the doorway shaking in her shoes.

 

"You must to be cleaning up. Unless to be needing assistance?" Sergeant Green asks Max.

 

"I-- No. I'm… I'm fine." Max steps through the door.

 

Minutes later Sara enters, deposits her jumpsuit and underwear in the laundry cart, and finds an open shower. Sara sighs contently under the warm water. She washes her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before hanging her head and letting the stream drum on her tense shoulders. Her mind wanders as the warmth of the shower lulls her.

 

A loud yelp shakes Sara from her daydream. Drawing a sharp breath Sara turns toward the sound. Max stands with her back pressed against the tiles, shivering and trying to cover herself, a hand on the wall on either side of her head as a woman stands imposingly over her.

 

"You wanna be my wife, sugar?" the woman grills Max.

 

Sara turns the shower off. Her hands ball into fists. Before she can step in a redheaded woman runs up from behind and throws her forearm into the back of the woman’s head. She falls forward crushing Max against the wall before the redhead pulls her back and throws her to the floor.

 

Sara's fists unclench. She draws a deep breath trying to settle her adrenaline-fueled heart and walks to the changing room. As she buttons her jumpsuit, the redhead pushes Max into the changing room.

 

"Well hurry up!" she tells Max, throwing on a denim outfit.

 

Max's hands shake as she grabs for fresh underwear and an orange jumpsuit. Before she can put her shoes back on the redhead is already pushing her out the door. Sara bites her tongue as she walks out into the cellblock, eyes scanning. Below she sees Haley O'Haley, leader of the Clovers and her lieutenant Big Bertha but no sign of Max or the redhead. Sara walks back toward her cell with hopes of getting as much rest as possible before breakfast.

 

"Thank you, O'Connor." Max's voice shakes through the bars of her cell as Sara walks by, stopping just past to eavesdrop.

 

"Clovers protect Clovers." the redhead says, shaking Max's shoulder.

 

Sara rolls her eyes, continuing into her own cell. Lying back on her bed, Sara breathes slowly and deeply never quite drifting off to sleep. The breakfast buzzer sounds, stirring her. Again Sara opts to skip breakfast in favor of catching up on her sleep.

 

* * *

 

Max trembles through the threshold into the changing room. With trepidation heavy on her fingertips, she finally sheds her orange shell, one arm wrapping around her chest and the other hand cupping the pearl between her legs. A newly familiar redhead waves her over to an open shower.

 

"Over here, Caulfield," she calls out over the rushing water.

 

Max meekly makes her way over to the Clover she knows as O’Connor. O’Connor turns the water on for Max before returning to the shower head directly across from Max. Stepping under, Max uses the arm she had used to hide her chest to wash herself. Combing her hair back, she faces the showerhead and lets the water pelt her face. Turning the spigot off, Max turns just as a large black woman walks up to her. The woman doesn't stop. Max is forced to back up into the wall, yelping loudly as she does.

 

With a hand on the wall on either side of Max's head, she asks Max "You wanna be my wife, sugar?"

 

Max stands paralyzed with fear. Suddenly the woman falls into her before falling backwards onto the floor. O'Connor stands above the woman.

 

“You don't fuck with the fucking Clovers!” O’Connor shouts driving her foot into the woman's rib cage. She grabs Max’s arm and drags her into the changing room.

 

Max freezes just inside by the door. Her eyes are drawn magnetically to the woman buttoning her jumpsuit.

 

“ _The woman from the catwalk…_ ” Max’s brain buzzes.

 

"Well hurry up!" the half dressed O'Connor shouts at Max.

 

Max snaps out of her trance, climbing into an orange jumpsuit of her own. Before Max can step into her shoes O’Connor drags her out of the room

 

"We'll cool off in your cell," O'Connor tells the still shaking Max.

 

Max bee-lines for her cell with the redhead in tow. Max plops on her bed. O’Connor peeks around the corner making sure they aren't drawing any unwanted attention.

 

“You-You hurt that woman… Really bad.” Max stares at the floor.

 

O’Connor kneels in front of Max placing her hands on Max’s shoulders. “It was either you or her, Caulfield. And I damn sure weren't letting it be a Clover.”

 

Max forces a smile “Thank you, O’Connor.”

 

“Clovers protect Clovers.” she reassures Max “You let me know if any more darkies give you trouble.”

 

Max grits her teeth in a forced smile and nods.

 

The breakfast buzzer sounds and with it Max and O’Connor head to the mess.

 

* * *

 

"Waddya need, Jefferson?" the woman behind the commissary cage asks Sara, chewing her bubble gum obnoxiously.

 

"Good morning to you too, Jerokowski," Sara says politely

 

"Uh-huh." Jerokowski remains nonplussed.

 

“I was just wondering if you had gotten in the Time Life special on the museums of Toronto.”

 

The guard leaning against the wall next to the cage rolls his eyes, patting his breast pocket, pulling a cigarette and walking away.

 

“No… Yea… It has this fascinating piece on…” Sara leans back, watching the guard walk away. Once he rounds the corner, Sara leans forward bearing up on the cage.

 

“What manner of fineries can JerJer acquire for you today?” Jerokowski smirks, leaning in herself “Playing cards? Cigarettes? Junk food?”

 

Sara turns her head both ways, double checking the secrecy of the conversation. “I need a mirror. Nothing fancy. Just a few square inches.”

 

"That's a pretty big risk if I get caught with it." Jerokowski narrows her eyes.

 

“I’m aware. But I’m hoping this might convince you that it will be worth your while.” Sara reaches into the pocket of her jumpsuit. She slides a small drawing of a nude woman across the counter. In a quick glance it could easily be mistaken for a photograph.

 

“Well fuck.” Jerokowski pockets the drawing “I’ll see what I can do.” She pauses, her head perking up. “Mhmm. I’ll see what I can do about that magazine for ya.” Jerokowski says loudly, noticing the guard walking back down the hall

 

"Thanks. I appreciate you looking into it for me." Sara turns to walk away.

 

“Any time.” Jerokowski calls after her, “Any time.” she repeats quietly to herself, stealthily admiring the picture in her pocket. She rolls a metal shutter down as the lunch buzzer goes off.

 

* * *

 

 

Sara thanks the woman handing her a tray of food, carrying to her usual table. Ashwood and Gipsy have already begun to eat by the time Sara arrives. She lingers for a moment before sitting, glimpsing at the girl with blue eyes picking at scraps on her tray with a spork.

 

Ashwood glances over in the same direction before looking at Sara. She chews her the food in her mouth and swallows. “They took her breakfast too.”

 

"Of course they did." Sara blows air out her nose.

 

Gipsy keeps her head down, carefully scooping her food. Ashwood finishes her lunch just as Hikohito sits down.

 

“You gonna eat that?” Ashwood points at something on Hikohito’s tray, drawing Sara’s glare “What? I _asked_!”

 

“Umm. No. You can have it…” Hikohito says, handing Ashwood her brownie. Ashwood attacks it with her teeth.

 

After a few more minutes of watching the Clovers’ table through narrowed eyes, Sara stands to bus her tray.

 

“Jefferson!” Hernandez calls after her mere feet after she leaves the mess hall. He curls his fingers, telling her to come over. With a sigh, she walks to him. “Turn out your pockets.”

 

Sara does as commanded, revealing a brownie in her fist. Hernandez takes it and shoots it into the trash. “You know there’s no food outside the mess.”

 

Sara’s lips part as if to say something but close. She looks away from the guard.

 

"What is it?" he questions her.

 

Sara nods her head towards the Clovers. “They’re starving that poor girl. I am the only one trying to see to it that she doesn't die of starvation.”

 

Hernandez turns his head slightly to see Max staring off into space. Her eyes stare dead ahead blankly as the Clovers carry on around her. Turning back to Sara he tells her “I’ll look into it.”

 

Before Sara can turn to walk away, Captain Hardt marches past them into the lunchroom, head turning and scanning.

 

"Captain." Hernandez nods as he walks by.

 

"Sir," Sara says at the same time.

 

“Caulfield!” Hardt’s voice booms. He marches toward her. He hands her an identification badge. “Welcome to laundry detail. You start Monday.”

 

“Hey, that’s with me!” O’Connor shakes Max’s shoulder “See ya down there in three days.”

 

“ _And Gipsy._ " Sara thinks, watching Gipsy turn to look at Max and O'Connor before snapping back to her tray.

 

* * *

 

“And then you just…” O’Connor presses a button on the washing machine. It whirs to life. “Got it?”

 

"Mhmm." Max nods.

 

“Great. When that’s done you throw it in the dryer. Then when _that’s_ done you just fold and stack by size. So easy even _she_ can do it.” O’Connor emphasizes ‘she’ with a thumb over her shoulder pointed at Gipsy, who is busy folding clothes.

 

“Okay…” Max leans against the folding table. Her stomach rumbles grotesquely eliciting a slight moan of pain.

 

“Aw geeze…” O’Connor rubs the back of her head “I don’t know why Bertha is such a fat sack of shit, Caulfield.”

 

“Probably because she takes everybody else’s food.” Max quips weakly

 

O’Connor forces a laugh “Yea…” she rubs Max’s back “I’m sure she’ll knock it off soon.”

 

Max lurches forward, bracing herself with two hands.

 

"Oh shit. You don't look so hot." O'Connor's expression changes from one of compassion to concern.

 

“I… I…” Max tries to take a step, her leg collapsing from beneath her sending her tumbling to the floor.

 

O'Connor drops to her knees, shaking Max with both hands. "Caulfield? Caulfield?!" She looks up to Gipsy holding a half-folded denim in shock. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Go get a guard!" she shouts at Gipsy, who runs from the room.

 

* * *

 

The dinner buzzer sounds. As women begin to exodus to the mess hall, the buzzer turns into a screaming air raid klaxon.

 

"What the--?" a woman across the gap shouts.

 

Sara turns to see Sergeant Green and another guard in full riot gear pushing women back into their cells. Looking down into the lower level she sees Captain Hardt and Hernandez identically armored.

 

"Dammit," Sara says under breath, walking back into her own cell, waiting until Green comes and slams it shut, locking with a loud click. She sits on her bed until a voice booms over a megaphone drawing her and every other inmate to their cell doors.

 

“Ladies!” Warden Mackey stands on the catwalk “What is the first rule of Pine Bay?”

 

An unenthusiastic murmur rolls through the air.

 

"Well, in case you forgot! The first rule of Pine Bay is ‘Do unto others as you would have done unto you.' Now I have an inmate in the infirmary that damn near died because some of y'all ain't doing unto her as you would have to yourself." One hand goes to his hip, his sportcoat being pushed back. "Somebody is responsible for this. Until I find out who, the lockdown continues. Do we have an understanding?

 

Another dull response.

 

"I said do we have an understanding, ladies!?" Mackey shouts into the megaphone.

 

"Yes, Warden." rings out low and slow, but audible.

 

“Good. Now let this be a _communal learning experience_." he hands the megaphone to Green before marching out shoulder-to-shoulder with Hardt. "I'll be damned if we're gonna have another scandal on our hands. Find out who did this," he says just loud enough for Hardt to hear, clearly cross

 

"Yes, sir," Hardt assures the warden.

 

* * *

 

Running her nail across the top of a tube of paint, Sara presses the nail into the wall leaving a third tally mark.

 

“ _I’ve never been in lockdown this long. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be in solitary confinement._ " Sara ponders.

 

She’s snapped out of the thought by the echo of heavy boots through the cellblock. Sara walks to the cell door, peering down over the catwalk to see Captain Hardt.

 

"Open it up!" he commands the guards flanking him, taking off his hat before marching in. What sounds like the squeals of a pig ring through the block as Hardt pulls Big Bertha from her cell. "C'mon, you son of a bitch!" he growls, clubbing her over the back when she continues to resist.

 

A guard takes either of Bertha’s arms, dragging her to her feet before shackling her and leading her to the solitary wing. Hardt follows close behind, stopping at the door to look over his shoulder and punch a large red button on the wall. Every cell door in the block rolls open. Silently, Hardt exits.

 

Women step out of their cells as if they were seeing sunlight for the first time. The dinner bell rings for the first time in three days. After taking a moment to process the sound the entire cell block erupts in a joyous hoot as the woman rush to be first in line.

 

Despite having had to wait for their dinner to cook after reaching the mess, an unusually harmonious buzz carries through the air. Neither Gipsy nor Sara look up from their trays as Ashwood takes her seat.

 

Ashwood leans over her tray “Who do you guys think snitched?”

 

Gipsy hunkers down. Sara turns to Ashwood with her head tilted and upper lip scrunching up in skepticism.

 

“What?” Ashwood asks, “Why else would the have hauled that tub of lard down to solitary?”

 

“One can only imagine.” Sara retorts dryly, her eyes wandering to the table favored by the Clovers.

 

From what Sara can tell the Clovers are the only women not enjoying their newfound “freedom”. She watches as O’Haley sticks her finger in O’Connor’s face before slamming her hands on the table. Soon after Haley O’Haley dumps her tray and leaves the room.

 

“She wouldn't be that pissed if there wasn't a snitch, Jefferson.” Ashwood takes a big bite.

 

The trio eats in silence even after Hikohito sits down. After taking a few minutes to enjoy the atmosphere, Sara retreats to the relative solitude of her cell. On her bed she finds a brown paper bag. Reaching inside she pulls out a small rectangular mirror. Stashing it under her mattress, Sara curls up in bed with the fullest stomach she can recall in a long time, quickly drifting off to sleep.

 

Voices on the catwalk stir Sara from her slumber.

 

"Coming to me if trouble is more." Green's nasally voice speaks softly.

 

A low “Thank you.” shakes out of the girl assigned to the cell next to Sara’s.

 

As Green’s footsteps fade away Sara takes the mirror from beneath her mattress. Reaching through the bars Sara angles her hand to see into Max’s cell with the mirror. What she finds is Max curled up on the bed, already fast asleep.

 

“ _She looks so innocent. I can hardly believe the stories they tell about her._ ” Sara thinks, recalling the horror stories of Maxine “Maxwell Silver Hammer” Caulfield. Sara watches the young woman sleep a while longer before stowing her mirror and crawling back into bed.

 

Snow falls daintily outside the windows as students stream past Ms. Jefferson’s desk and out the door.

 

"Enjoy your winter break," she says absentmindedly, engrossed in the next semester's lesson plan sprawled out on her desk.

 

A beam of orange light encroaches upon the teacher’s desk, creeping lower and lower until it eventually strikes her glasses. Standing, Ms. Jefferson pushes her glasses up her face and rubs the bridge of the nose.

 

“ _Where did the time go?_ ” she thinks to herself, wondering how late it must be

 

She looks out over the classroom, thinking about the progress her students are making. She swells with pride at their growing talent. Her heart catches in her chest as Ms. Jefferson realizes she isn’t alone. Her heels click on the tile as she walks to the frontmost table in the room.

 

“What are you still doing here? It's…” she turns to look at the clock “Nearly five o’clock.” She does a double take “Five o’clock?!”

 

"I'm… almost done…" the blonde speaks slowly as her hand moves delicately across her pad.

 

“Have you been working this entire time?”

 

"I have to finish… before break." the girl replies, still focused on the piece in front of her.

 

"I admire your dedication," Jefferson starts, rounding behind the girl "But you really should be…" her voice trails off.

 

The girl’s hand makes a few final strokes blending pastel colors together. Setting the pastel down on the table she lets out a ragged breath. “Done.” She holds her pad out with both hands to admire her work.

 

"Allyssa, this is…" Ms. Jefferson.

 

The blonde turns to look up at Ms. Jefferson, the joy in her face melting away into fear and doubt. She hastily throws her things into her bag, pushing up from the table and toward the door. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have wasted your time. I’ll see you after break--”

 

Ms. Jefferson holds the pastel self-portrait at arms reach, leveling her eye with its subject. “Incredible.”

 

"I… What?" the blond turns back, face red and confused.

 

Ms. Jefferson's eyes scan the picture from top to bottom. "Incredible…" she repeats.

 

Allyssa clutches the strap of her bag. “You… You really think so?”

 

Jefferson's eyes flutter as she pulls her eyes from the art and focuses on the artist "I do."

 

Allyssa’s face lights up, the undeniable happiness and bubbliness returning as quickly as it left.

 

"May I… hold onto this?" Jefferson looks at Allyssa.

 

"You really think it's that good?" Allyssa asks, her self-doubt scraping Jefferson's ears.

 

"I do. I really do," she assures the girl.

 

Ms. Jefferson carries the pad to the board propping it up on the chalk holder. Taking hold of Allyssa’s forearm, she pulls the girl to stand beside her art before stepping back to admire the likeness.

 

"You have real talent, Allyssa." Jefferson tells her, hoping to assuage the girl's doubts "You have the potential to be a great artist one day."

 

Allyssa blushes, brushing an errant lock from her face. Her radiant blue eyes stare into Sara’s. “Thank you.” She stifles a nervous giggle. “But what I really want is to be a model.”

 

Sara’s brows raise, her head tilts up, and her lips curl into a smile as she folds her arms and admires the beautiful young woman standing in front of her. The girl’s blue eyes shimmer in the late afternoon light, locked in a silent dance with Sara’s.

 

Waking up, Sara sits on the edge of her bed hanging her head in both her hands. To the surprise of no-one, Sara skips breakfast that morning to focus on her artistic pursuits. She works feverishly on her easel. Her hand only stops moving in the brief moments used to recall fine details. Head jerking with the lunchtime alarm, Sara wipes her brow. She smiles looking at her handiwork before sliding it under the frame of her bed to let the pastel become fast on the paper. Satisfied in the art’s safety Sara begins walking down to the cafeteria.

 

Every head in the mess turns to the door as Big Bertha’s humongous figure waddles through. She sits at the Clovers’ table with a loud creak of the seat. O’Connor delivers Bertha’s lunch, patting her on the back as she sits. Bertha’s hand launches across the table snatching something, undoubtedly something sweet, from Max's tray.

 

"At the very least they no longer seem to be trying to kill her." Sara muses bringing a cup of tea to her mouth, her glasses fogging over.

 

“Thank fuck.” Ashwood turns back from watching Bertha, “I don't want to be cooped up like that again for a long time.”

 

"Lockdown was no fun," Hikohito adds.

 

Sara turns to the Asian woman completely deadpan. “Thank you for that insightful comment, Hirohito.”

 

Hikohito raises a finger "Umm...  Actually, it's Hiko--"

 

“Don't mind her, Hiko,” Ashwood cuts her off “She's just in a bad mood ‘cause the Clovers tried to kill her new crush.”

 

“There is… not a sliver of truth in that statement.” Sara’s voice raises an octave in the middle of the sentence. Her face burns.

 

“Don't bullshit me, Jefferson.” Ashwood leans back with her door in her mouth. “Even the Gipsy could see those goo goo eyes you make at her.”

 

Sara stares down into her tea, her breaths sending waves across the surface. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

 

"Oh-ho-okay" Ashwood laughs.

 

Her uber-cool facade cracking, Sara pushes off from the table leaving her tray as she storms back to the main block. As quickly as Sara had left Gipsy stands herself and takes chase. Ashwood shrugs and takes the two abandoned trays as her own, offering some of the extra food to Hikohito.

 

“Sara!” Gipsy shouts catching up just outside Sara’s cell.

 

Sara stands outside the door looking into her cell. Her hands ball and unball at her sides in rapid succession, her whole body rising and falling with each ragged breath.

 

“Who did this!?” Sara screams. “Who did this!?” Sara stomps into her cell.

 

Rounding the corner Gipsy finds Sara sobbing on her hands and knees gathering the black and white strips of canvas that lie scattered on the floor.

 

Gipsy inches into the cell. Sara snaps at the scarf-wrapped woman as she bends down to help.

 

“Don't touch her!” Sara wails.

 

Gipsy recoils, her hand shaking.

 

Sara clutches the bundle of tatters to her chest doing everything she can to hold back the tears.

 

Taking several steps back, Gipsy runs into the bars with a hollow clang.

 

“Shame ‘bout yer drawin’ there,” the Irishwoman’s voice burns Sara’s ears. Sara turns to see Haley O’Haley leaning in the entryway to the cell. “T’were a real beaut.”

 

Sara's jaw clenches as her eyes focus on O'Haley "You…" she growls.

 

"Let this be a warning to ya. Next time ya decide yeh wanna stick yer neck out where it don't belong tings'll be a lot feckin' worse." Haley dips her head, looking down at Sara.

 

“You!” Sara scrambles to her feet lunging at Haley.

 

Haley dips into the attack, grabbing Sara by the shoulders. Haley digs her feet in, overpowering the brunette. She wrenches her arms, turning Sara sideways and pinning her back against the wall.

 

"And where do yeh think yer goin?" Haley grins inches from Sara's face.

 

"Fuck you, you mother-whoring Irish cunt." Sara spits in O'Haley's face.

 

O’Haley laughs as the loogie rolls down her cheek. “Big words for a little snitch.”

 

“I’m not a snitch, you crazy bitch.” Sara’s hands grab fruitlessly at Haley’s arms

 

"Oh, I know yeh are. Yer the only one thick ‘nough to try and help that lass." Haley shakes her head.

 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Haley," Sara speaks through gritted teeth.

 

"Oh come off it. Didn't need to see yer little drawing to see the glad eyes you been casting our way in the mess hall." the Irish woman chuckles.

 

Sara averts her eyes turning away from Haley's accusations.

 

"S'what I thought, then." Haley's suspicions seemingly confirmed, "Now I wanna hear ya say it."

 

"I didn't do it," Sara says, losing her fight as the adrenaline wears off.

 

Haley moves her arm across Sara’s chest holding her with one forearm. “Guess I’ll just need to keep shreddin’ yer fancy pictures til you tell me.” She grabs the corner of the whale painting pinned between Sara and the wall.

 

"You wouldn't." Sara brow furrows again, teeth bared.

 

The sound of canvas tearing carries through the air.

 

"Stop!" Sara screams.

 

“Villain!” Gipsy shouts. Haley stops and turns her head to Gipsy. “Disassemble no more! I admit the deed!”

 

Haley lets go of Sara who slides down the wall until she winds up seated, looking up at Gipsy.

 

"You?" Haley walks toward Gipsy.

 

“Tear up the planks!” Gipsy continues, pulling at her many scarves “Here, here! It is the beating of a hideous heart!” Gipsy beats her chest with a closed fist.

 

Gipsy walks backwards as Haley approaches, butting up against the bars again. Haley stands toe to toe with her, looking down at the shorter woman.

 

“You’d best watch yerself, Dr. Who.” Haley takes a fistful of scarf, pulling Gipsy in close before throwing her back against the bars. With that, Haley takes her leave.

 

Gipsy stands shaking like a sapling. Sara wipes her face on her arm, sniffling as she tries to piece her shredded pastel back together.

 

* * *

 

Max heaves as she wraps her arms around a heavy load of hot denim fresh from the dryer. She drops it on the table, shaking out her arms.

 

“Those buttons get _hot_ ," she says, blowing on her fingertips.

 

"Oh. Yea. Probably shoulda said something." O'Connor grins.

 

Max shakes her head and giggles as she begins folding the blouses and slacks. The two work in silence, folding dozens of articles as O’Connor hums.

 

"Can I ask you something, Caulfield?" O'Connor breaks the silence.

 

"Umm… I guess." Max says, laying another folded blouse on the stack.

 

"Are the stories about you true?" O'Connor tilts her head, one eye narrowing.

 

Max stops, holding another blouse in her hands. “What stories?”

 

“Uhh…” O’Connor pauses “The ones about you beating a kid to death with a hammer?”

 

Max looks away from the redhead, taking a moment to formulate her response. “I… I don’t know.”

 

“What do you mean you don’t know? Either you did it or not.”

 

“I mean I don’t…” Max turns away, arms wrapping to hold herself as she tries to not cry “I don’t know. I don’t remember. One second I was taking a picture for some stupid contest…” she sucks back in her tears “And the next thing I remember… oh God.”

 

O’Connor slowly puts down the slacks she was folding. “So you just… snapped?”

 

"I don't know!" snaps Max.

 

“Okay! Okay. Jeeze.” O’Connor puts her hands up “Sorry.” she sighs “Let’s just get this stuff folded.”

 

Max nods silently still fighting her tears and frustration with her own mind. Together they finish folding in no time.

 

"Can I ask you something now?" Max asks.

 

"Sure." O'Connor lies the last blouse on the pile.

 

“I heard Haley shouting in the cell next to mine yesterday…” Max wrings her hands nervously “Do you know why?”

 

"She was up there on Clover business." the redhead says shortly.

 

"Clover business?" Max repeats.

 

"Look. Just keep your head down and-- Well shit. Speak of the devil." O'Connor turns her head as Gipsy pushes a laundry cart into the room and begins loading up a machine.

 

"What?" Max looks back and forth between the two women.

 

"Stay here, Caulfield," O'Connor commands, turning as she sneaks up behind Gipsy. She jams her heel into the back of Gipsy's knee, bringing the woman to her knees. Grabbing two scarf ends, O'Connor puts her knee to Gipsy's back and pulls.

 

Gipsy frantically grasps at the scarves desperate to get a breath.

 

“On behalf of the Clovers, as well as every other snitch hating bitch in this hellhole, let me make myself clear. Keep your fucking mouth shut, you crazy gippo. You got it?”

 

Panicked yelps escape Gipsy’s mouth as she claws at the scarves stealing her breath.

 

"I'll take that as a yes," O'Connor says as she lets Gipsy fall to the ground. She snatches the woman's glasses from the floor, throwing them into the washer, slamming the door, and turning it on. "Next time we won't be so kindly," she tells Gipsy before walking out of the laundry room.

 

Max watches, frozen in fear as Gipsy pulls at the fabric around her neck, gasping for breath. Gipsy sits on her knees, panting as she catches her breath, feeling her face before feeling around the floor looking for her glasses. Max briskly walks past her, her head lowered, eyes on the ground.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh. Sloppy joe for dinner again.” Ashwood drops her tray on the table with a clang. “Who even makes these menus?”

 

"The state budgetary board, no doubt," Sara tells her, using her spork to eat the loose sloppy joe on her tray.

 

“You know, one time at camp the food was so bad…” Jefferson and Ashwood both tune Hikohito out as she drones on with another camp story

 

“Wait,” Ashwood drops her sandwich, cutting Hikohito off. She lifts herself in her seat and looks around the mess hall.

 

"What is it?" Hikohito asks.

 

Ashwood continues to turn her head “Where’s Gipsy?”

 

The trio all lean, turning with widening eyes to look at the empty seat where Gipsy had been sitting during every meal for longer than any of them had been in Pine Bay.

  
  
  



	3. All the King's Horses and All the King's Men

A car door slams. Keys scratch against a wooden door. Tumblers rattle as the key slides into the lock. The handle turns with a loud click that reverberates throughout the house. David Madsen walks through the front door, dropping his keys in the nearby bowl and hanging his “SECURITY” hat. David slumps and rolls his shoulders as he walks into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he retrieves a carton of orange juice, twisting off the cap and drinking straight from the carton.

 

"Good morning, David." Joyce's voice is music to his ears as he turns, closing the fridge.

 

David smiles, sighing warmly as he ambles toward the dining table. “Mornin’, Hon.” David sits next to his wife.

 

"Long night?" Joyce asks her husband.

 

“Yea…” David cracks his neck from side to side “Things are still pretty tense on campus.”

 

"I can imagine." Joyce nods her head, slightly bouncing.

 

David looks at his watch. “You’re up pretty early.”

 

"I was just making Chloe some breakfast before I had to go to work," she explains.

 

“How…” David rubs his head “How is she? Chloe?”

 

“She still won’t come out of her room.” Joyce looks down at the table

 

"Mmm." David's mouth slants.

 

“I was wondering if you might…” Joyce looks up at David “Might try to talk to her.”

 

David raises his brows “Me? Talk to her?”

 

"I just thought with you being a soldier and all…" Joyce's cheeks raise her eyes into a squint, a lost look on her face.

 

"Do you really think she'll listen to me?" David holds back a sneer.

 

“No. I don’t know.” Joyce puts her hand on David’s “I just… please?”

 

David sighs and rubs the back of his head. “I can try.”

 

Joyce smiles weakly at her husband “Thank you, David.”

 

David stands, pushing the small of his back with both hands eliciting a series of loud cracks. He walks to the landing at the bottom of the stairs, his hand grabbing the banister as he looks to his wife. Joyce shoots him a reassuring smile. Smiling back, David ascends the stairs.

 

"Chloe?" David asks, the back of his knuckles rapping on Chloe's bedroom door.

 

"Nobody's home! Go away!" Chloe yells from the other side.

 

David looks down, finding a plate of bacon and eggs. He picks it up. “Come on now, Chloe. Your mom made you some breakfast. I think you should show her some gratitude and eat.”

 

Silence.

 

David brings the plate to his nose and smells the food.

 

“ _Stone cold._ " he thinks, pondering for a moment before chewing on a cold piece of bacon.

 

"I just want to talk, Chloe," David speaks loudly through the door.

 

"I don't!" Chloe shouts back.

 

“Dammit, Chloe!” David jiggles the locked handle “Can you just listen to what I have to say for a minute?”

 

"No." she replies coldly.

 

"Well, I'm not leaving until you do." David continues jiggling the handle.

 

“Ugh!” Chloe grunts. Her feet patter across the floor. The lock clicks open.

 

David turns the knob and opens the door slowly. He steps in, closing the door behind him.

 

Looking around David thinks “ _This place is even more of a mess than usual._ ”

 

"Good morning, Chloe," he says.

 

"Whatever." Chloe turns to sit on her bed, her lighter clicking as she lights up a joint.

 

"Is that a marijuana cigarette?" David struggles to not raise his voice.

 

Chloe blows a puff of smoke in David’s direction and coughs softly “Yes, David. This is marijuana. Weed. Grass. The Devil’s lettuce.” She takes another puff, lying back to stare at the ceiling.

 

“Look…” David walks further into the room. He loops his hand around the back of Chloe’s desk chair, pulling it toward him. An empty beer bottle falls to the floor with a loud **_tink_ **.

 

Chloe jumps, pushing herself backwards up the bed. Her blue eyes gape in fear, her breaths suddenly shallow and ragged.

 

“Fuck!” she pants “Don’t fucking _do_ that!”

 

“Sorry...” David sits in the chair, leaning forward “Look, Chloe. I understand your need to… cope.”

 

Chloe doesn’t respond.

 

“I just…” David moves his hands through the air in front of him as he speaks “I understand what it's like. Combat… Combat is hell, Chloe.” He stares a thousand yards into the American flag hanging over the window above Chloe’s bed.

 

Chloe squints, blowing air through her nose.

 

“It's not…” David hesitates, trying to choose his words for the first time in a long time “It’s not something that’s easy to deal with. It's not something that just… goes away. What I’m trying to say… If you need somebody to talk to… I’m here. Okay?”

 

Chloe sighs, crushing out her joint. “Is that it?”

 

“Yea…” David shakes his head in exasperation. He walks to the door, turning around before closing it. “Your mom’s worried about you, Chloe… We both are.”

 

When Chloe doesn’t respond, David hangs his head, closing the door with a soft click. He walks back down the stairs, carrying the plate of uneaten food, as Joyce stands by the door, looking up at him.

 

"How'd it go?" Joyce smiles weakly.

 

"I tried," David says.

 

Joyce wraps her arms around David. “Thank you for trying.”

 

"Of course," he says, patting her back.

 

Joyce sighs, pulling herself away. “I guess I should mosey on down to the diner.”

 

"Have a nice day, hon." David kisses her cheek.

 

“You too. Get some rest now.”

 

"I'll be able to get some rest when this investigation is done and over with." David sits down on the stairs.

 

“David... “ Joyce starts, walking towards him “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. I’m sure nobody else will.”

 

“It's my job to keep those kids safe, Joyce.” David’s brow furrows “I couldn’t do that. Now a boy’s dead.” David slumps forward with his head in his hands. Joyce sits on the step next to him, draping herself over his shoulder and squeezing him in a hug.

 

Chloe, still on her back, holds her phone in front of her face.

 

**FRANK**

**7:32 AM**

I want my fucking money

 

Chloe rolls to the side, the phone sliding halfway out of her limp hand as her arm flops on the bed. A heavy sigh escapes Chloe's chest as she forces her eyes closed, teardrops lingering on her lashes.

 

* * *

 

David walks into the living room from the garage carrying a case of beer.

 

"Joyce!" he hollers.

 

“Don’t worry, David,” Joyce calls back from the kitchen, chuckling lightly “Dip’s done.”

 

David grins “Thanks, hon.”

 

Joyce rounds the kitchen island to meet David at the end of the hall, giving him a quick peck.

 

“No, thank you.” she says “I’m just happy to see you out of the dumps now that that whole mess blew over.” She takes a chip, scooping up some dip and pops it into David’s mouth.

 

"Mmm. Ohmgawd" David drools. He chews and swallows "What could be better? A few friends, a few beers, and Joyce's famous dip?"

 

"Well, I don't know about _famous_." Joyce beams.

 

David slides the case into the fridge.

 

"Hey…" David turns around, closing the fridge "You haven't seen another case of Moosehead around here, have you? Coulda sworn I bought two."

 

"Did you drink it and forget?" Joyce smirks.

 

David's eyes trail through the kitchen door and come to a rest on the stairs. "Maybe…" he speaks softly.

 

While Joyce continues setting up the snacks David slowly walks to the stairs. He climbs, his lips sucked into a frown. Reaching the top he knocks on Chloe’s door.   
  
“Chloe?” he raps the door with the back of his hand

 

Silence.

 

David tries the handle. It jiggles uselessly.

 

"Chloe? I need to talk to you. Now." he tries to speak loudly enough to be heard by Chloe but not Joyce.

 

After a minute, David grumbles as he pulls out his pocket knife. Flipping open the blade he carefully slides it between the door jam and the latch. Moments later the door pops open.

 

"Chloe?" David asks as he carefully steps into the room.

 

Silence again.

 

Looking around, David realizes that Chloe isn’t in her room. He sighs, looking around as if expecting her to be playing hide and seek. He notices strange lumps under Chloe’s blanket on the bed. David grabs the corner and pulls.

 

"Dammit," David mutters as empty Moosehead cans bounce off the floor. He turns on his heel as the curtains above Chloe's desk flutter in the wind pouring through the open window.

 

* * *

 

"Dammit," Chloe grumbles, her lighter striking but not lighting. She fumbles with the lighter, dropping it. It bounces under a pile of scrap. "Dammit!" Chloe throws her head back in frustration.

 

"Oh look. It's the Lone Ranger." Frank walks through the open doorway.

 

"Piss off, Frank." Chloe glowers.

 

"Oh, don't let me get in the way of… whatever this is" Frank motions with his hand "I smelled the weed and beer. It's cute that you're getting shitfaced at five in the afternoon. Just like me at your age."

 

"We're not anything alike, man." Chloe wobbles as she leans stands from the car seat.

 

"We both need money. In fact, you need it so bad that you owe me a shitload." he leans into his words, watching Chloe lean over a pair of barrels.

 

"Well I don't fucking have it," she says, pulling a bottle from behind the barrels.

 

“Well shit. What an honest drunk you are.” Frank scoffs. He points to the bottle in Chloe’s hand. “What’s that you got there?”

 

“Whiskey.” Chloe says, tugging on the cork “If I can get the stupid bottle open.”

 

“So what? You can afford high shelf whiskey but you can’t pay me back?”

 

Chloe grips the cork with her teeth, extricating it with a loud pop. She spits the cork at Frank.

 

"I was saving it. It was Rachel's." she looks at the bottle, her eyes dampening.

 

"Ah, Christ kid." Frank takes a step closer.

 

“It was supposed to be for us to celebrate getting out of this shithole.” Chloe takes a drink. “Then it was supposed to be for celebrating Rachel coming back.” She takes another drink. “But she’s never coming back, is she?” She throws her head back, taking another shot from the bottle.

 

"Jesus. Slow down." Frank reaches for the bottle.

 

"Where did you get that bracelet?" Chloe pulls away, nearly falling out of her seat.

 

Frank stops, looking down at his own wrist “I got if from a friend. And it's none of your goddamn business.”

 

"That's Rachel's bracelet! Why the fuck are you wearing her bracelet?" Chloe begins to raise her voice.

 

"Calm down, runt. It was a gift," he says forcefully.

 

"No, it wasn't. You stole that shit. Give it to me right now, asshole!" Chloe grabs for the bracelet dangling around Frank's wrist.

 

Frank’s switchblade pops out with a cool **ching** “You better step back before you regret it, girl. I mean it.”

 

Chloe grabs at Frank again. He stumbles a few steps back into a pile of scrap sending a hunk of metal falling to the concrete with a loud clang. Chloe’s eyes go wide with the sound reverberating in her head. Flashes overtake Chloe’s vision.

 

A girl running around a corner.

 

CLANG as she trips.

 

The girl’s grunts as she beats a boy to death with a hammer.

 

CLANG as the hammer falls to the ground.

 

Chloe screams, swinging her fists wildly. Splashes of whiskey fly through the air as Frank pushes her back. She stumbles, falling on the makeshift bench and snapping the board in two.

 

"You're a fucking mess, Price." Frank looks down at her.

 

Chloe looks back up at him with contempt burning in her eyes.

 

"You have until next Friday to pay me," he tells her, knife in his hand "And don't ever pull crap like that again or--"

 

"Or what, Frank? You'll kill me? Just save us both the time and kill me now. I'm not going to have your fucking money." she glares at Frank.

 

Frank shakes his head, pocketing the blade. “Next Friday.” he points at her before turning to leave.

 

* * *

 

David’s feet almost move faster than he can keep up as he glides down the stairs. Walking through the living room and into the garage, he opens his laptop. David pulls a folder down from the top of the cabinet. He scans it quickly, eyes jumping between the file and the screen. Opening a drawer to his right he takes out a map, unfolding and refolding it, taking a pen and circling something.

 

"David? Is something the matter?" Joyce asks David as he walks briskly through the living room and toward the door.

 

"No. Everything is fine. I just forgot to do something." David says as he shoves his hand into the arm of his jacket.

 

“Are you sure? If there’s something I can--”

 

“It’s fine, Joyce.” he cuts her off “I’ll be back soon.”

 

David opens the door, stepping past his arriving guests. Jumping into the car, David revs it to life, backing out of the driveway. The tires screech as he slams on the gas.

 

“ _Dammit, Chloe._ " David's mind races as he weaves around traffic on the way out of town.

 

Minutes pass like hours as David shoots down the two-lane highway like a rocket-sled on rails. Glancing at the map, he cuts to the right off the road onto a dirt lane. His muscle car bounces to a stop just short of slamming into the back of Chloe's truck. Jumping out he runs to the truck, seeing the American Rust Junkyard sign bent under its bumper.

 

“ _Please be okay._ ” David’s inner voice says as he jogs to the window of the truck.

 

Peering inside, he sees the floorboard covered in Moosehead cans. Shaking his head, David looks up and scans the junkyard for any sign of Chloe. Following a trail of cans and footprints leads David to the cinderblock hideaway. Looking into the room, he sees a snapped plank atop a few cinder blocks. The turned over seat of a car. A yellow and black tapestry pulled into a pile in the middle of the floor. Shattered bits of a yellow plastic radio scatter the floor.

 

On the wall, he sees graffiti reading "Chloe was here. Rachel was here." The ‘was' in Rachel's line is circled. Stepping back outside, David sees footprints as he looks down. Knee prints in front of those. He follows the footprints to the train tracks. He looks both ways down the rails as far as he can before following the direction of the footprints, pulling his collar up as the afternoon light begins to fade.

 

* * *

 

Chloe’s boots crunch on the gravel between the railroad ties.

 

“Is this where you went, Rachel?” Chloe slurs as she stumbles down the line

 

She takes the more than half empty whiskey bottle to her lips.

 

"Is this how you got out? You hopped a train and left me?" she continues stumbling and slurring.

 

Continuing to meander her way down the tracks for some time, she shields her eyes from the setting sun. As the sun dips below the treelines, she makes out the silhouette of the old burned mill.

 

“Why did you save me if you were just going to leave me like everybody else?” Chloe drops to her knees, sobbing “Why, Rachel?”

 

Chloe sits on her knees, gravel digging into her skin as she weeps deeply and openly for all, and nobody, to hear as the sun sets. A train whistle rouses her. Lifting her head with bleary and heavy eyes, Chloe looks at the lights on the front of the train. Bringing the bottle to her lips again, she chugs the remainder of its contents. Chloe pushes herself to her feet, her balance unsteady.

 

“Come on!” she yells at the train “Come on! I’m not afraid!”

 

The train blares it's horn, slamming on the brakes.

 

“I’m not going anywhere!” Chloe throws the bottle toward the train. It veers wildly off to the side, shattering somewhere down the bank.

 

Sparks fly from the train’s wheels as it grinds across the rails in a futile effort to stop.

 

A low terrible guttural scream rips through Chloe's chest, nearly pulling Chloe's heart out through her throat. Her eyes full of tears she bends at the waist, holding herself as she wished Rachel was there to do, her low whines being drowned out by the train.

 

“Chloe!” David yells, running along the tracks “Chloe move!”

 

Chloe either doesn’t hear David or doesn’t want to. She remains steadfast on the tracks as the train barrels toward her.

 

David’s feet pound on the gravel as he runs as fast as he can.

 

The innumerable furies swirl through Chloe’s head as she cries through eyes clamped shut and gritted teeth.

 

The train's horn blares rapidly on and off.

 

"I'm coming, Dad." Chloe whispers, opening her eyes to the train's blinding headlight.

 

At the last possible second, Chloe feels her body pushed out of the way. She tumbles down the bank along the track. She feels heavier than usual. She grunts as her body slams with each roll. She comes to a rest with something heavy on top of her. Opening her eyes she sees David.

 

“Chloe! What were you thinking? David shouts “You could have died!”

 

"Why did you stop me?!" Chloe shouts through her tears "My dad is dead! My best friend is a psycho killer! The only person who ever gave a shit about me left me here to rot! Just let me fucking die!" Chloe struggles against David, who easily pins the drunk girl down with a hug.

 

“I give a shit about you, Chloe. Your mom gives a shit!” David pulls Chloe up, wrapping his arms around her.

 

Chloe struggles against him. Her arms wriggle, pounding at him with what little force they can muster. Eventually, she collapses into his shoulder crying her eyes out.

 

The high moon casts its dim light over David and Chloe as they turn back into the junkyard. Chloe walks arm draped over David, leaning heavily onto him without her own sense of balance. Walking past the truck, Chloe’s phone beeps inside.

 

“Chloe, no!” David shouts, chasing after Chloe as she breaks away from David.

 

Retrieving her phone, she holds it up to her face, squinting through the tears.

 

**FRANK**

**9:47 PM**

I know how you can pay me back

 

Chloe quickly pockets the phone as David comes upon her. He puts a hand on either shoulder, guiding her to his car. He opens the passenger door, helping Chloe sit down, and closes it behind her. David begins to speak as he climbs into the driver seat. The words are muddled and lost on Chloe's ears. She leans on the door as the alcohol in her veins lulls her to sleep, the hum of the engine drowning out the rest of the world.

  
  



	4. The Calm Before

“What the fuck?” Ashwood looks at Sara

 

Sara’s eyes turn to Ashwood, her head slowly following suit. Her lips part slightly as to speak, but she sucks them back. Hikohito looks between the other two women at the table, her jaw slack somewhere between confusion and fear. 

 

“She’s probably just in the bathroom.” Hikohito turns to Ashwood “She’s probably just in the bathroom, Ash.”

 

Ashwood shakes her head back and forth. She mouths a silent “No.”, eyes darting side to side.

 

Sara raises both hands defensively. “Now, Ashwood, I’m sure there’s a  _ perfectly reasonable _ explana--”

 

“Bullshit!” Ashwood barks, her brows furrowing “They did something. I know it.” She turns to look toward the Clovers

 

Sara’s head turns slightly in the same direction, her eyes darting to the Clovers and back to Ashwood, her lower lids drawing up toward her eyes despite her attempt to maintain the appearance of having a cool head.

 

“What?” Ashwood stares down Sara

 

“What?” Sara asks back

 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Ashwood demands

 

“I don’t know anything.” Sara widens her eyes and raises her shoulders slightly

 

Ashwood shakes her head “No. Nuh-uh. That innocent act might work on everybody else in this joint,” Ashwood circles her finger in the air “But not me.” She points to herself, “I’ve known you too long for that, Jefferson.”

 

“I don’t--” Sara’s eyes dart toward the side again

 

“They did it, didn’t they?” Ashwood’s nose scrunches up

 

“Ash, just calm down.” Sara reaches for Ashwood’s hand. Ashwood reels her arm in like a trout line. 

 

“What are you doing?” Ashwood leans back, a skeptical look on her face

 

“I’m just--”

 

“Are you protecting them? Are you fucking kidding me?” Ashwood’s cheeks lift as she scoffs

 

“What? No! I just--”

 

“You are.” Ashwood cuts Sara off again. Her head jerks to look at the Clovers again. “It's that Silver Hammer girl, isn’t it? You’re protecting the fucking  _ Clovers _ because you want to play teacher or whatever sick shit you’re into.”

 

Sara can’t hold back the blood rushing to her face. “Ashwood, no. It's not like that.”

 

“Well if you won’t tell me, I’m gonna go find out!” Ashwood pushes off the table as she brings herself to her feet. Blowing air out of her nose and pushing her ebony hair back, she marches directly to the Clovers’ table. Sara and Hikohito watch in stunned silence.

 

“Well look’et what the cat drug in.” Haley laughs, turning to look Ashwood up and down

 

Ashwood stares Haley down. Her jaw slides back and forth as she seethes. “What did you do to her?” 

 

“An who would that be?” Haley asks

 

“Gipsy. She ain’t here.” Ashwood turns her torso to look around the mess hall “What’d you do?”

 

“No idear what yer on about.” Haley turns back to her food, her spork twirling in the meat and sauce on her tray before taking a bite “Now bugger off.” Haley tells Ashwood without looking at her. 

 

Ashwood scowls, turning toward to small girl with brunette hair. Her eyes, which had been locked on Ashwood since she mentioned Gipsy, suddenly look away. 

 

“It was you, wasn’t it, hammer girl?” she starts toward Max “What’d they do? Have you take out Gipsy to get into the Clovers? You little fucking…”

 

Max pulls back, her eyes going wide as Ashwood comes at her. “N-no I--” Her eyes dart to O’Connor “G-Guys?” 

 

Haley and Bertha ignore Ashwood and Max’s cries as they continue to eat in silence.

 

O’Connor’s eyes flash between the four of them. From Ashwood to Max. From Max to Ashwood. From Ashwood to O’Haley and Bertha, then back to Max.

 

Ashwood’s lip curls up, her teeth bared. She growls, leaning toward Max. Again Max’s eyes shoot to O’Connor, dragging her head to the side. Ashwood follows Max’s gaze to O’Conner who turns her head with her eyes staying on Ashwood as if to silently say “Stop.”

 

“No…” Ashwood growls, turning back to Max “It was that firecrotch, wasn’t it?” 

 

Max squirms in her seat looking between the Clovers at the table for some sort of answers. Ashwood stands back up, rounding the table.

 

“You little fucking--” Ashwood winds her arm back for a haymaker

 

Something catches her arm. Without looking she throws the other elbow back. 

 

“Fuck!” a small voice squeaks “My nose!”

 

Ashwood draws a sharp breath, turning quicking toward her held arm. She sees Sara holding her her arm to her chest with both arms, her face a storm of disappointment, and disbelief. 

 

“Stop.” Sara commands

 

Ashwood spins the rest of the way around. Hikohito stands next to Sara, holding her face as blood pours from her nose, into her mouth and down her chin. 

 

“You bwoke my nose!” Hikohito whines

 

“Oh, fuck!” Ashwood reaches for Hikohito “Hiko I’m sorry! Fuck!”

 

“What in the blue fuck is going on in my mess hall?” a voice shouts

 

Silence falls across the mess as Captain Hardt marches toward the women. Sara releases her grip on Ashwood’s arm.

 

“I asked you a Goddamned question!” Hardt booms “What the fuck happened to you?” he asks looking at Hikohito

 

“I fell.” Hikohito tells him

 

“She tripped.” Sara says at the same time

 

Hardt’s eyes narrow, his nose scrunching as he looks the three women up and down. He turns to look at Sara. 

 

“You.” he points at Sara “Get the slope to the infirmary.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder. 

 

Sara looks at him confused. 

 

“Now, Jefferson!” he shouts again

 

Sara squeezes between Hardt and Ashwood, taking Hiko by the hand and leading her out of the mess hall. She turns her head to look at Ashwood as she turns through the door. 

 

Captain Hardt looks Ashwood up and down. “And what are you doing? Eat or go back to your cell.”

 

Ashwood blows air from her nose, returning to her now empty table. 

 

“That goes for all of you!” Hardt booms again, turning to survey the diners around him. Straightening his hat, Hardt marches back toward the door. As he reaches the doors Hernandez walks back in. “And where the fuck were you?”

 

“Uhh… Latrine, sir.” Hernandez stutters out

 

“I don’t care if you shit your pants. You will not move from your post unless ordered to, is that understood?”

 

“Yes, Captain!” Hernandez salutes

 

Hardt glares at Hernandez before continuing out of the dining hall. 

 

* * *

 

“Hello?” Sara calls through the infirmary door. Hikohito hangs onto her for balance “We need some help!”

 

A tall, dark woman walks from behind a curtain. “Doc’s out to dinner what’d you-- fuck.” She walks toward the women in the doorway. “Well c’mon. Let’s get on her on a bed.”

 

Together Sara and the other woman guide the now woozy Hikohito to the nearest hospital beds. 

 

“Okay, honey.” the woman says as she sits on a rolling stool, “I need to take a look.” She pulls back Hikohito’s sleeve from her face. The crusted blood pulls at her nose making Hikohito whimper in pain. The woman turns to Sara “What the fuck happened?”

 

“She tripped.” Sara crosses her arms

 

“And fell right on her dumb face?” the woman’s brow raises

 

“What impeccable bedside manner you have.” Sara’s mouth draws an even line across her face

 

“Jackson just calls it how Jackson sees it, baby.” the woman says, pulling out a penlight and looking at Hiko’s nose. She stands and walks deeper into the infirmary. 

 

“Where are you going?” Sara asks

 

Before an answer is received, Jackson returns with two pens in her hands. “Get behind her and hold her head. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I gotta fix this shit and the faster we do it the less fucked up her face is gonna be so just hold her head still, okay?” 

 

With little choice, Sara nods and moves to the head of the bed. Placing a hand on either side of Hikohito’s head, she holds her steady. Jackson takes the pens one at a time and pulls the inkwells out, blowing the caps off the opposite ends. 

 

“Can you hear me, sweet pea?” she asks Hikohito

 

“Uh-huh…” the bloody faced woman slurs

 

“Good. I gotta fix this nose of yours. Is that okay?” Jackson continues

 

“Ya-huh” Hiko slurs again

 

“Good enough for me.” Jackson looks at Sara. “Hold her tight. She gonna buck.” 

 

Jackson takes her gloved hand and presses the tips of her middle and index fingers on either side of the top of the bridge of Hikohito’s nose. Trailing down, Hikohito whines softly. Going lower Jackson feels the break causing Hikohito to scream out in pain. Squeezing Hikohito’s nose between her fingers, Jackson slowly pulls down, straightening it as best she can as Hiko screams bloody murder. Sara holds the girl’s head as tight as she can, trying to comfort her to little avail. 

 

“Shh… Shh… It's going to be okay, Hiko.” Sara says in the most gentle voice she can muster in the moment

 

Moving as quickly as she can, Jackson takes the pens and inserts one into each nostril to keep the nose straight. “That… oughta hold.” Jackson says, wheeling back on the stool. 

 

“That’s it?” Sara asks incredulously, letting Hikohito’s limp head roll back into the pillow as she wheezes, eyes closed

 

“Until Doc Brown comes back.” Jackson peels off her gloves “He’ll probably just give her a mask and some pain killers.”

 

“She’s going to be alright?” Sara looks down at Hikohito’s passed out form as she steps around the bed

 

“More or less. Nose’ll probably be a little crooked but otherwise, yeah.”

 

Sara breathes a sigh of relief, her face returning to it's stone facade. “Thank you.”

 

“Mmmhmmm.” Jackson hums with her eyebrow raised “S’my job. Now you’d best be getting back to your block. ‘Bout time for lights out.”

 

“Right.” she agrees. She awkwardly pats Hikohito’s shoulder before walking across the suddenly sterile-feeling room. Reaching the door, Sara looks down the hall both ways before taking the path to her left. She walks briskly down the long corridor. Turning the corner, she passes by several doors, the words etched into their windows a blur as she tries to beat the clock. 

 

A series of boom sounds in the distance. The all too familiar sound of industrial bulbs shutting off stops Sara in her tracks. The fluorescent tubes above her flicker and dim, every other light in the hall shutting off. 

 

“ _ Oh… shit. _ ” Sara’s heart drops as her eyes adjust to the eerie ambience. She takes off jogging down the hall. Her eyes flicker trying to navigate. Coming up the door to Cellblock A, she reaches out both hands toward the pushbar. Her body flattens against the door as the bar goes in but the door doesn’t budge.

 

“Inmate? What are you doing out of your cell at this hour?” a man’s voice calls 

 

Sara turns around to face the owner of the voice. “Warden Mackey. I was just on my way back from the infirmary.”

 

Mackey stands with a stack of papers under his arm. He looks Sara up and down. “Doesn’t seem to be anything the matter with you.”

 

“My friend.” Sara pants “Broke her nose.” 

 

“Ah. Well…” Mackey reaches into his pocket pulling out a keycard “Let’s get you back to your cell, Jefferson” 

 

She steps to the side as Mackey reaches to slide his card. “You know who I am?”

 

“I’m the warden. I read the file of every prisoner that comes into my facility. Some are more… memorable… than others.”

 

Sara’s lips draw in and her eyes narrow as she tries to catch his meaning. The warden swipes his card. Above the door the red dome light flashes green. Reaching back for his pocket, Mackey drops the card. Instinctually Sara bends down to grab it for him. Mackey reaches for the card as well. Their heads knock together sending both to the ground, Mackey’s papers spilling onto the floor.. 

 

“I am  _ so _ sorry!” Sara says, rubbing her head with one hand, the other gathering up the papers. 

 

“ _ Pine Bay Correctional Facility seeking inmate rehabilitation and skill building programs. Contact Pine Bay Correctional Facility at 555-6927 or the Oregon Department of Corrections at 555-9369 _ ” Sara reads before handing a stack to Warden Mackey.

 

“Fuck!” the warden rubs his own head. He grabs the stack from Sara’s hands. “Don’t  _ ever _ reach for a keycard like that.”

 

Sara’s eyes go wide. “I--didn’t think. I was trying to help.” 

 

“Fine lot of help.” he grumbles, opening the door. “Come on.”

 

Sara follows him through the door, it slams behind her as it's green glow turns red again. She stays no more than a few steps behind as they climb the stairs to the second level. 

 

Walking along the catwalk Sara can’t help but think to herself “ _ It's surprisingly peaceful here at night. _ ” 

 

The warden pulls a keyring from his pocket and unlocks her cell. Before he can tell her to get inside, she already has. He slams the cell bars shut with one hand. 

 

“Goodnight, Jefferson.” he tells her, turning to walk away

 

“Warden?” Sara calls out, gripping the bars

 

“What is it now?” 

 

“I saw your flyers…” Sara points to the stack of papers in his arm

 

“And?” Mackey holds his arms out in question

 

“I was wondering… About an art program.” she tries to pick her words carefully

 

“And who do you propose would run this art class?” a brow raises on Mackey’s face

 

“Well… I mean… I could…” Sara’s attempts to stay humble fall uselessly on the warden’s ears

 

Mackey scoffs “I thought you had your teaching license revoked when you came here.”

 

Sara sucks in her lips, biting her tongue. “I don’t need a license to share my love of art.” Sara says through gritted teeth. “It wouldn’t be an accredited. It would be for fun. Art can be very… therapeutic.” 

 

The warden turns his head to the side almost in disbelief, turning it back to Sara with a sigh. “Fine,” he says, holding his free hand up. “Fine. If you can find a way to fund it, you can have your class. How’s that?”

 

“That sounds perfectly amicable. Thank you, sir.” she hides her cocky grin as best she can

 

“Good. Now get to sleep, for the love of Pete.” he walks away this time without pause

 

Sara sits on her bed, releasing her grin as it turns into a beaming smile as she looks above her cell door to the portrait of her brother. 

 

* * *

 

Max follows Haley and Bertha out of the mess. Despite walking in the shadow of two larger than life women Max makes herself as small as possible, trying to find safety hiding behind their presence. She keeps her head down as she stares at the back of Haley’s feet, Haley’s voice and Bertha’s grunts fading into the rest of the the crowd while Max processes the events from dinner. 

 

O’Connor weaves around a few women as she catches up to the rest of the clovers. “What the fuck was that, Haley?” 

 

“Dunno what yer on about.” Haley replies dryly, not even looking at O’Connor

 

O’Connor moves to walk shoulder in shoulder with Haley, turning her head to look at the leader of the Clovers “You were just gonna let Ashwood clobber poor Caulfield? Clobber me?” She puts a hand to her chest. 

 

Haley’s shoulders shrug slightly “Not my fight.”

 

O’Connor steps in front of Haley, turning to face her, stopping the Clovers in their tracks. “We’re Clovers. It’s all our fight.”

 

“No,” Haley’s eyes narrow “Twas retaliation fer yer attackin the Gipsy.”

 

“But that’s what you told her to do. It was Clover business, wasn’t it?” Max squeaks, the first time she’s gone against Haley in the slightest

 

Haley’s brow furrows and nose scrunches up as she stares daggers into Max. “So it's a war yeh want then?”

 

“I want you to stand up for  _ us _ like you stand up for Jabba the Cunt!” O’Connor’s voice begins to raise with her anger

 

“You bitches are lucky to be Clovers. Otherwise I’d be all over yuh.” Bertha sneers as her gravely, husky voice sounds

 

“This  _ never _ would have happened when my mom was in charge.” O’Connor glares between Haley and Bertha

 

“Oh, boo hoo, poor mama’s girl.” Haley mocks her “Yer mother were a --”

 

“My mother was a saint!” O’Connor shouts, cutting Haley off

 

Max slinks up to O’Connor, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder “O’Connor, calm down.” Max asks of her, turning her head either way “People are staring.” Max’s fearful eyes plead with O’Connor.

 

“I don’t have to put up with this.” O’Connor seethes “If the Clovers aren’t going to give a shit about me then I’m not going to give a shit about the Clovers.” She turns to Max. “I’ll be waiting for you when you wise up to their tricks, Caulfield.” O’Connor huffs, turning and walking away from the small group of onlookers toward her cell.

 

“So what. Ye gonna follow yer little girlfriend there? Leave us high and dry s’well?” Haley crosses her arms looking at Max contemptuously 

 

Max freezes, looking at Haley “I-I don’t know how long I’d survive in here without you…” she stutters out anxiously. 

 

Haley swings her arm over Max’s much shorter shoulders as she continues walking “Well ye keep providing yer little tribute and we keep protecting ye.”

 

Max gulps, nodding in agreement. Bertha grumbles incomprehensibly from behind. 

 

“Lights out in five!” Sergeant Green shouts from somewhere above. 

 

Haley lets go of Max’s shoulders “Sleep tight, Caulfield.” 

 

Max shivers with Haley’s and Bertha’s chuckles. Keeping her head down, Max finds her way to the stairs on an indirect path avoiding as many people as possible. Eyes on the floor, Max counts the cells she passes in her head.

 

“ _ Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten… Eleven… _ ” she counts

 

“Twelve.” she whispers breathlessly, turning into her own cell. 

 

Max sighs, sitting on her lumpy bedroll on the hard metal frame. She looks around her cell. 

 

“ _ I hate how comfortable this room is starting to feel. _ ” Max thinks

 

Cell doors slamming shut, the industrial lights above shutter in waves. Max squirms in bed unable to find a comfortable position as her head swirls with thought.

 

“ _ Haley should have stood up for me. But the Clovers haven’t let me get hurt… yet. That was mostly O’Connor though… I don’t know if I can trust Haley. And Bertha scares the crap out of me. _ ” Max tosses and turns, unable to sleep with these new dilemmas running through her.

 

Hearing footsteps, Max props herself up on an elbow, peering over the edge of her headboard. 

 

“ _ The warden? And that woman…” _

 

“Goodnight, Jefferson.” Warden Mackey says

 

“Warden…” Jefferson stops him “I was wondering about an art program.”

 

“ _ Jefferson?! _ ” buzzes through Max’s thoughts

 

“And who do you propose would run this little art class?” Mackey questions

 

“Well I could.” the woman replies

 

The warden scoffs “Wasn’t your teaching license revoked?” 

 

“ _ She was a teacher? _ ”

 

Max can hear Jefferson’s soreness in her words “I don’t need a license to share my love of art.”

 

“ _ Was… _ ”

 

“Fine. If you can fund it you can run it.” The warden sounds exasperated.

 

Max settles back into bed as the warden walks away. 

 

“ _ An art class? Ran by an  _ actual _ art teacher? Another Jefferson even. Wowsers. _ ” Max stares up at the ceiling. 

 

Trying to clear her mind, Max closes her eyes, focusing on her breathing. 

 

“ _ In… _ ”

 

“ _ Out… _ ”

 

“ _ In… _ ”

 

“ _ Out… _ ”

 

Max is suddenly roused by the sounds of whimpering. She pulls herself from bed, slowing moving to the bars trying to determine where the sound is coming from. She instantly realizes the cries are coming from Jefferson’s cell. 

 

“ _ That poor woman… _ ” Max thinks “ _ She tried to make me feel better when I was crying. Maybe she knows what it's like… _ ”

 

Returning to her bed, Max eventually falls asleep despite her nerves and uncertainty.

 

* * *

 

Sara’s smile eventually fades as she lies down. The warden’s words swirl in her head. 

 

“ _ Memorable… Revoked… _ ” The warden’s words repeat in her head as her eyes droop closed.

 

Sara’s eyes shoot open. She sees a wide wooden table in front of her. A man in a suit sits next to her on the left. Turning right, she sees District Attorney James Amber leaning back in his seat at another table. Sara looks over her shoulder. Allyssa sits, fidgeting with her hands, anxiously looking at Sara. A door on the wall across from Sara swings open, bouncing into the wall. 

 

“All rise!” a man’s voice calls

 

Everyone, including Sara, goes to their feet. A man in a black robe walks through the door, climbing to the bench. 

 

“Be seated.” the judge says, prompting everyone back to their seats

 

“Sara Jefferson,” the judge starts. Sara’s lawyer stands, prodding her elbow to have her stand as well. “ For your crimes, your license to teach is hereby revoked.”

  
The gallery explodes in a cacophony of voices. 

 

“Order!” the judge booms, banging his gavel “Order in my court!”

 

The sea of voices dies down. 

 

“Furthermore,” the judge continues “I hereby sentence you to serve no less than four years in Pine Bay Correctional Facility.” He bangs his gavel, “It is so ordered.”

 

Sara feels the tears burning as they run down her face. She swings around to see Allyssa stand, running towards her. The bailiffs grab Allyssa, holding her back. 

 

“It's going to be okay, Alys.” Sara chokes out, reassuring the girl through their tears, her fingers just barely grazing Allyssa’s “Everything’s going to be okay.”

 

“Sara!” Allyssa screams

 

The judge’s gavel bangs again and again, Allyssa’s screams reverberating, everything moving more and more slowly until it freezes. 

 

Sara shoots up in her bed, her face wet with tears. She looks around her cold cell, holding a hand over her mouth as she falls back into bed, stifling her sobs. 

 

* * *

 

Max enters the rec room, her eyes scanning from wall to wall. Finding her destination, she makes a beeline for the telephones near the guard station. With both in use, she leans against the wall waiting for one to free up. 

 

“It would be a great opportunity for these women.” Max overhears Sara say into the phone. “Besides, weren’t always a crusader for the arts?” Sara giggles “I knew, you’d see it my way. Thank you again, Mark.”

 

Sara hangs the phone up, looking at it for a moment before turning away. Her eyes land on Max. She freezes for a split second before regaining her composure and walking away. 

 

Max picks up the phone and dials.

 

“You’ve reached the Caulfields.” the answering machine plays “Ryan.” her father’s voice “Vanessa.” her mother’s “And Max!” Max’s own voice plays as her eyes tear up “Leave a message!” the three say at once

 

“Mom…? Dad…?” Max says into the phone “I… I don’t know what to say. I know… I know you’ve heard a lot of things… I don’t… I don’t know where to begin. I just… I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so scared. I miss you. So much. I… I love you.” Her voice becomes heavy with tears near the end. 

 

Max hangs up the phone, falling against the wall, sobbing. A hand gently tugs her shoulder. 

 

“More ladies to be using the phone, yes?” Sergeant Green nudges Max

 

Max nods silently, stepping away. 

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god.” Ashwood says as Hikohito sits down with her protective face mask “I’m so, so sorry, Hiko.”

 

“It's… fine.” Hikohito says more than a little upset

 

“You should be proud,” Sara says “This is the first I’ve heard Ashwood apologize for anything.”

 

Ashwood glares at Sara

 

* * *

 

“I just… I just don’t know if I’m cut out to be a Clover, y’know?” Max’s words shake out

 

Haley sighs “Look. Ye just take yer time to think it over. In the meantime, just keep givin’ us what we want and we keep you safe.”

 

“O-okay.” Max stutters

 

* * *

 

“Jefferson.” Hernandez calls

 

Sara walks up to the guard station.

 

“Warden says your funds came through. About two weeks until you can start setting up shop.” he continues

 

“Wonderful.” Sara beams “Thank you for passing the message along, Hernandez.” 

 

He nods, turning back to the camera monitors.

 

* * *

 

“Are the Clovers even still together?” Ashwood remarks, looking toward the table where they sit. 

 

“I don’t know.” Hikohito says “I just see the big one and the blonde one together mostly. And the little one at the other end of the table.”

 

Sara looks over her folded hands at Max hunched over her food at the far end of the Clovers’ table.

 

* * *

 

“I want Caulfield for myself.” Bertha’s deep voice echoes from her cell

 

Sara presses herself into the wall outside Bertha’s cell where she had been walking.

 

“Keep it down.” Haley says “Don’t want the whole block tuh ‘ear ya.”

 

Bertha rolls her eyes.

 

“Sides,” Haley continues “She’s still a Clover. Still protected. Even from you.”

 

Bertha grumbles. 

 

Sara grits her teeth, walking away.

 

* * *

 

Ashwood sighs. “Do you think she’s coming back?”

 

“This is far from the first time Gipsy has moved in the prison.” Sara tries to calm her “Traveling is her namesake, afterall.”

 

Ashwood forces a smile, nodding in agreement. “Yeah… I’m sure she’s fine.”

 

* * *

 

Sara plops down into her seat across from Ashwood. The soggy omelette on her tray bounces into her applesauce. Elbows on the table, Sara hangs her head and rubs her eyes. 

 

“Rough night?” Ashwood asks

 

“A little bit, yes.” Sara says down to the table

 

“How you feeling?” Ashwood prods again

 

Sara bends her head up, eyes half closed. “Oh just peachy, Ash.” Her cheeks draw up with her saccharine smile, dark rings taking shape under her eyes. 

 

Sara turns her head as Max stands at the far end of the Clover table. In plain view, she holds a muffin. Her daily tribute for Haley and Bertha. As usual, Sara keeps an eye on her muse as she walks down the length of the table, wary of the Clovers and their “protection.” Reaching out, muffin in hand, Max suddenly freezes. 

 

“Well, ye handin’ it over or not?” Haley asks Max

 

Max’s face goes blank, her eyes glassing over. 

 

“Y’know I don’t like repeating meself, Calfueld..” Haley scowls

 

Sara leans back in her seat, eyes transfixed on Max. Suddenly Max’s fist squeezes around the muffin. It crumbles, chunks falling over Haley’s tray. 

 

“Are you  _ fucking _ kidding me?” Haley shouts, standing from her seat

 

Bertha twists her head like a confused ape. 

 

Hikohito draws a sharp gasp. 

 

Ashwood shakes her head. 

 

Sara braces herself against the table at arms reach, ready to leap into action, her heart dropping in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any typos, my proof reader is out of town this week.


	5. Thirty Pieces of Silver

“Uhhhgh” Chloe groans, waking up as the ray of sun cuts through her head like a saw.

 

“ _An eight minute trip just to wake me up. Fuck you, sun.”_  Chloe's mind rambles.

 

Gripping her blanket, Chloe pulls it up over her head, wretching at the stale beer smell. Her stomach heaves into her chest at the thought of touching alcohol again. She grumbles quietly with her face pressing into the palm of her hand. Every heartbeat sends a shoot of pain between Chloe’s temples.

 

Chloe sighs at the sound of her doorknob turning. Footsteps across her room toward her bed. An invasion of her sanctum. She puts on a mean face, peeking her head up over the blanket.

 

"Morning," David says, holding out a red Gatorade and an aspirin.

 

Chloe’s eyes narrow, looking between the offering and the offerer. After a moment she grabs the potential hangover relief, popping the aspirin into her mouth and washing it down. David pulls up her desk chair.

 

“Can we talk?” David sits facing Chloe’s bed

 

"No," Chloe says plainly, lying back on her side, facing away from her stepfather

 

“Chloe…” David sighs, already tired of the attitude “Look. I’m not going to tell your mother about what happened last night. I just…” he pauses, looking at Chloe as she wraps the blankets tighter around herself “If you feel like that again… You can talk to me, okay?”

 

Chloe doesn’t say anything. Her eyes trace up and down the scribbled over height chart in the corner.

 

“I just think it would help. Talking about it when you feel that way. Having somebody to talk about it with.” David continues

 

Chloe’s eyes narrow in annoyance as David drones on.

 

“Like I have your mother.” David’s words light a fire in Chloe’s belly

 

Chloe whips up, to face him, eyes already glistening with angry tears. “Don’t talk to me about _my_ mom. Don’t come in here like you know me. I don’t _have_ anybody. The only people I’ve _ever_ been able to talk to are fucking gone! Dad’s gone. Max is gone. Rachel is gone!”

 

David rubs the back of his neck, looking away uncomfortably. “You said that last night, too.”

 

Chloe crosses her arms, huffing. "I don't really remember what I said," she mumbles angrily

 

David folds his hands, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. After a few silent moments, he speaks without raising his head. “What about me?”

 

“What _about_ you?” Chloe’s face twists

 

David raises his head to look at Chloe. “I can be that person.”

 

Chloe’s face scrunches up. “Hello, earth to step-douche. You’re part of the fucking problem.”

 

David sighs. “Chloe I… I know I haven’t been… the easiest to get along with…”

 

Chloe scoffs

 

“I’ve been… a really crappy… parent.”

 

"Understatement of the century much?" Chloe verbally gouges.

 

“I deserve that.” David sighs again, wiping his mustache down with his hand. “I want to… I want to be there for you. Can you let me help you?”

 

Chloe huffs, looking at the half-empty bottle of Gatorade in her hand. She unscrews the cap, chugging the rest of the bottle.

 

“Just… think about it, okay?”

 

“Ugh. Fine. Whatever.” Chloe drops the bottle on the ground, flopping back into bed.

 

Chloe rubs her face into her pillow as she listens to David’s boots bounce across her bedroom floor, the door closing behind him. With some liquid and medicine in her body, Chloe drifts back to sleep still hella hungover.

 

_BZZZBZZZB_

 

Chloe rolls over holding her head, reaching for her phone. Grabbing it from the floor, she opens the new message.

 

**FRANK**

**11:56 AM**

Two Whales. Tomorrow.

 

Chloe lets out a long breath, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

 

“ _Maybe it's time to get up._ ” Chloe thinks, stretching her arms out above her head and throwing the blankets off. Standing out of bed, Chloe lazily pushes her chair back to her desk with one foot before sitting down, her eyes coming to rest on a picture next to her laptop. Chloe sucks in her lips, squeezing her eyes and batting away the tears and she shoves the picture of Captain Bluebeard and her mighty first mate Long Max Silver into the top drawer of the desk.

 

* * *

 

Chloe’s truck rumbles down the street. Over the tops of the buildings, the neon Two Whales sign comes into view. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, Chloe pulls into the parking lot. She pulls up as close as possible to the building under the windows, hoping her Joyce won’t see her truck. Keeping her head down, Chloe slides out of the driver’s seat, pushing the door closed behind her more quietly than she knew possible before walking over to Frank’s RV.

 

“Frank?” Chloe calls through the door, rapping lightly on the aluminum siding. “Helloooooo?”

 

The door pops open. “Price.” Frank stands in the door with a beer bottle in his hand. “Well come on up. Let’s talk bidness.”

 

Chloe climbs the few steps into Frank's RV. "It's been years since I've been in here," she says, turning either way to look around. She grins at Frank "Still smells like piss."

 

“Oh, shut up.” Frank sits down at the kitchenette table, his beer hand prompting Chloe to take up a seat on the other side.

 

A dog barks in the back of the RV. Frank clicks around on his laptop.

 

“Look, Frank. I don’t know what you think--”

 

“Hold on. I need to grab something from the back.” Frank cuts her off, walking to the back.

 

As soon as Frank opens the door, a dog bullrushes down the length of the RV, past Chloe, turning around next to the driver's seat, and running back to Chloe, butting its head up again her leg.

 

“Hey, Pomps.” Chloe smiles, rubbing his head

 

“Can you not call him that?” Frank yells from the back.

 

"Nah," she smirks at Frank as he comes back, a small black book in his hand. He opens the book on the table, running a finger down several pages. "Okay. So I'm just gonna go ahead and assume you know about the Vortex Club since you went to that shit school."

 

“Well… Yeah. Rachel was…” Chloe trails off “What does that have to do with me?”

 

“Two weeks ago was their Halloween party. ‘End of the world’ or some shit.” Frank tells her

 

“Okay… And?” Chloe raises a brow, lost already

 

“And before he got his brains mashed in, I fronted Nathan the… party supplies.” Frank puts air quotes around ‘party supplies’

 

“Nathan’s uh…” Chloe shivers as she sees Nathan’s mangled body flash into her mind. She shakes the image out of her head. “Clearly not paying you back.”

 

“Well no shit.” Frank looks up from his book “But his rich prick friends can.”

 

“I’m still not seeing how this involves me, Frank.” Chloe crosses her arms

 

“Because even all these years later it's still easier for you to go collect from those Blackwell assholes than me.”

 

Chloe pushes off from the table, standing. “No. No no no. Do you even fucking remember the last time you pulled this shit?”

 

“Jesus, Price. Relax. I’m not fucking Damon Merrick. I’m not gonna show up and snap some kid’s leg in half.” Frank seems offended for the first time Chloe can remember

 

“Frank, do you really think--”

 

“You owe me _three large_ , Price. I'm giving you an easy out. What's there to think about?" Frank sips his beer.

 

“I don’t…”

 

“Look, this is fucking easy. All you have to do is go ask. If they say no, that’s all I need to hear. I have other ways to collect on them. If they pay up, bring me my money. Just work off your debt and we’ll be square.” He holds out his hand “Deal?”

 

Chloe rolls her head back, giving a pouty, exaggerated sigh of exasperation. "Fiiiiine." she grabs his hand.

 

"Good. Now get the fuck out of my house." Frank goes back to his computer, petting Pompidou's head in his lap.

 

Chloe sighs, shaking her head as she walks out of the RV. Looking up at the diner as she grabs the handle of her truck, she sees her mother looking out the window at her.

 

“ _Busted_." Chloe thinks, slamming the door again and walking inside.

 

"Chloe!" Joyce giddily greets her daughter with a hug.

 

Chloe stands awkwardly with her mother wrapped around her. “Hi, mom.”

 

“It’s good to see you out of the house.” Joyce smiles at her daughter. “Here, here. Take a seat.” Joyce guides her to a booth “What can I get you? My treat.”

 

“Uhhh… bacon sounds good?”

 

“Sal!” Joyce calls to the back through the window “Two dots and four dashes!”

 

"Comin' up, Joyce!" a gruff man's voice calls back.

 

"So… how are you feeling?" Joyce asks Chloe.

 

"I'll be fine, mom." Chloe rolls her eyes.

 

"I know you will, hon. I just--" Joyce is cut off by the ding of a bell.

 

"Order up!" Sal calls.

 

Joyce grabs Chloe’s food and a pot of coffee, pouring a mugful for her daughter. Chloe crams her mouth full of bacon.

 

"Sowwy mom. Fuww mouf cahn tawk." Chloe chokes out through the food.

 

“Same old Chloe.” Joyce smiles, shaking her head.

 

Confident her cover hasn't been blown, Chloe eats the rest of her food at a decent human pace. Plate clean, she walks to the door as her mother's back is turned. "Thanks, Mom. See you at home," she calls, the door closing behind her before her mother can react.

 

Chloe jumps back in her truck, roaring the engine to life as she pulls back into the street. A short drive later, she pulls into the Blackwell student parking lot. Drumming her fingers on the wheel, Chloe wonders if she’s really about to go through this whole shitshow again.

 

"Fuck it," Chloe tells herself, bailing out the door. She walks across the lot, bouncing with her cool confidence shielding her from the growing doubt in the back of her head. Up the stairs and into the campus proper, Chloe takes notice of how many more kids there are at Blackwell these days.

 

"Justin!" she shouts, spotting the hatted stoner.

 

"Chloe?" He shouts back, walking towards her "Duuuude! What's up?" he holds out his fist.

 

Chloe bumps it, laughing “Hey dude. Not a lot. How about you.”

 

"You know." Justin giggles.

 

“Heh, yeah.” She pauses “So look, Justin. Frank sent me.”

 

"Oh… shit. Uh…" Justin pats his pockets.

 

“That’s cool man. I’ll just tell him you’ll get back to him. No problem.”

 

"Thanks, man. You're awesome." he holds out his fist for another bump, which Chloe obliges.

 

Chloe looks past Justin's should "Hey, Trevor! Yeah! You!" she jogs past Justin.

 

"Oh, hey Chloe. What's up?" he asks, picking his skateboard up.

 

"Oh y'know. Just working." she chuckles nervously.

 

"You? Working? Give me a break." Trevor laughs stupidly.

 

"Yeah… Actually, I'm working right now. I'm collecting for Frank." she tells him.

 

“Oh, well damn.” Trevor digs in his pockets, pulling out a wad of cash “That should be close.”

 

Chloe counts it. "Yeah, that's most of it. Thanks, Trev."

 

"Yeah… No problem." he looks considerably less happy for having seen Chloe now.

 

"So uh… Seen Victoria around here anywhere?" Chloe says, craning her neck.

 

"I think she's still in class," he says.

 

"Thanks, man. See ya 'round?" she holds out a fist.

 

“Yea. Most def.” he bumps her fist, slamming his board and hopping on, riding down the sidewalk.

 

Chloe turns, looking up at the monolithic building in front of her. Pushing down thoughts of the horrors here, Chloe walks straight to the doors. She grabs the handle and lets herself inside. The bell rings as she steps inside, students flooding into the hall. She spots Victoria’s signature blonde bob, walking around people as she makes her way down the hall. Suddenly she stops. Chloe stands frozen as students stream past her, bumping her lightly. Eventually she gets corralled over to the wall next to a drink machine. Her eyes fixed on a bathroom door. _The_ bathroom door.

 

"Fuck," Chloe says breathlessly, back to the wall. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck." A can falls in the machine beside her, sending Chloe jumping into the air "FUCK!"

 

People stop to stare at the boisterous blue-haired bombshell.

 

“What’s going on here?” an authoritative voice calls above the chatter “Chloe?” David looks turns around the machine “What are you doing here?”

 

Snapping out of her trance, Chloe shakes her head. “I was just visiting a friend. Jeeze. I thought you _wanted_ me to talk to people?”

 

"I do. It's just-- You shouldn't be here." David tells her.

 

"Oh. Yeah. Expelled. Riiiiight." Chloe tries to play it off.

 

“Seriously, Chloe. I’ll see you at home.”

 

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She looks past David, seeing Victoria walk out the doors at the other end of the hall. She turns around, walking to the nearby doors, and goes back outside. Chloe takes one last look at the campus before heading back to her truck and driving home.

 

* * *

 

“Come and get it!” Joyce shouts happily from the dining room.

 

David walks in from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. Chloe bounces down the stairs on her heels.

 

"Glad to see you're joining us for dinner, hon." Joyce hugs Chloe.

 

"Yea… Gotta get out of my room sometime, right?" Chloe feigns a laugh.

 

"Just stay out of trouble, okay?" David turns and dips his head, giving her a knowing look for her being at Blackwell earlier that day.

 

"Yes, mein fuhrer." Chloe gives an angry sigh.

 

"Now c'mon, knock it off you two. Let's just eat." Joyce scoops potatoes onto their plates.

 

The trio eats in silence for the better part of the meal. Joyce occasionally tries to start a conversation, but it always dies just as quickly.

 

“Chloe decided to come to the gym with me tomorrow morning.” David wipes his mouth

 

"She did?" Joyce raises a brow.

 

"I what?" Chloe's eyes narrow.

 

"Isn't that right, Chloe?" David gives her another knowing look.

 

"I uh… Yea. The gym. Fun. Exercise. Woo."

 

“Well…” Joyce says, thinking “Good. It’ll be good for you to get some exercise after lying in bed the past few weeks.”

 

“I’m _so_ excited.” Chloe grits her teeth, staring daggers at David. She shoves off from the table, climbs the stairs, and falls face first into bed fully clothed. Within minutes she’s out like a light.

 

"Hey." David's voice calls through the haze of sleep "Wake up." he gently shakes her shoulder.

 

"Ugh… What time is it?" Chloe asks groggily.

 

“Five in the morning.”

 

“There’s a five in the morning?” Chloe raises her head, eyes still closed.

 

"C'mon. Daylight's burning." David tells her, looking at his watch.

 

"You mind if I uh… wake and bake? Y'know. To cope with getting up at five in the fucking morning?" Chloe smacks her lips together as she wakes up.

 

“Physical fitness if a high of its own, Chloe.”

 

Chloe sits up, rubbing the back of her head. “I prefer pot.”

 

Chloe gets up, changing when David leaves the room. Slipping off her jeans she pulls on a pair of shorts. Peeling her tank top off, she unclasps her bra, pulling a black sports bra from her dresser and slips her tank top back on over it. Making the slog down the stairs to a waiting David, she slips on her ratty old pair of tennis shoes. David opens the door for her, following her to his car. A few minutes later they arrive at a chain fitness center. Chloe maintains her scowl as they get out, walk inside, and David signs in.

 

"Okay. Let's get started with some jumping jacks." David says, starting.

 

“ _Eh, fuck it._ ” Chloe thinks, joining in. She follows David’s lead switching to pushups with him, then squats, and various stretches.

 

“Okay.” David claps his hands together “Good warmup.”

 

“Warm” Chloe pants “Up?”

 

“Haha, yeah.” David wipes his brow with a towel “But now we can get to the good stuff.” David motions for Chloe to follow him. Pushing herself back up straight from her bent position she follows him down a hall to a room with a boxing ring.

 

"Fucking sweet. Does this mean I get to punch you?" Chloe grins.

 

"Not yet." David laughs back "We're gonna work on your form first. I figured this would be good for you. It's a good way to get out… Pent-up aggression."

 

"I don't have any pent-up aggression, dude." Chloe barks back.

 

David just raises his eyebrows at her.

 

Chloe crosses her arms, looking away “Not that much…”

 

David helps Chloe put on her boxing gloves before picking up two training shields and clapping them together. “Okay, Chloe. Gimme your best shot.”

 

Chloe winds her arm back, slamming her gloved fist into the training pad.

 

"Not bad," David says. "Try tucking your elbow next time."

 

Chloe rolls her eyes, throwing another punch and tucking her elbow this time. “I didn’t know you could box.”

 

"Fourth in my division. First in my regiment," he tells her, bracing himself with each punch she throws. "Okay… let's try something."

 

“Okay…”

 

“Picture something that makes you upset. Some _body_." David says.

 

"Okay…" Chloe thinks of Rachel, laughing somewhere without her.

 

"Now picture their face right here." he pats the shields together again.

 

“Easy.”

 

“Now punch them.”

 

Chloe winds back, popping the imaginary Rachel in David’s hand.

 

"Again" he commands.

 

She hits again.

 

"C'mon. Hit it again!" she hits again.

 

“Just keep going, Chloe.”

 

She punches again. And again. And again. She sees faces flash vividly in the shield.

 

Rachel.

 

**PUNCH**

 

Max.

 

**PUNCH**

 

Frank.

 

**PUNCH**

 

William.

 

**PUNCH**

 

David.

 

**PUNCH**

 

"Oh, fuck!" David falls back, bringing the shields to his face.

 

“Oh shit. Sorry!” Chloe can’t help but laugh.

 

“I didn’t mean _my_ face." he slips off the shield, rubbing his face.

 

“Accident. I swear.” Chloe reaches down. David grabs his hand and she helps pull him to his feet.

 

“I think that’s enough for today.” David checks his watch. “How about some breakfast. Two Whales. On me.”

 

"Sure," Chloe says, toweling the sweat off her head.

 

* * *

 

David parks next to the diner, locking the doors after Chloe gets out. As the sun begins to rise over the buildings, Chloe holds a hand up to shield her eyes. Just under the orange light, she sees Frank’s RV. David nudges her to follow.

 

"So, what can I get my two hungry gymrats this morning?" Joyce asks with a smile.

 

"Just my usual, hon," David says, holding a hand up to refuse a menu.

 

“Yea. The usual, Mom.” Chloe

 

David and Chloe sit awkwardly while they wait for their food. Chloe fiddles with the salt and pepper while David compulsively checks his watch.

 

“So,” Joyce sets down their food “How’d it go?”

 

Chloe takes a bite of bacon. "Surprisingly not entirely shitty."

 

"Well, I'm glad." Joyce smiles at the two of them.

 

"I was thinking Chloe could come to the gym with me once a week," David tells Joyce.

 

"What do you think, Chloe?" Joyce turns to Chloe.

 

“That…” Chloe swallows “Doesn’t sound horrible I guess.”

  
David smiles at Chloe, pointing his fork at her bouncing it up and down, then looking at Joyce.

 

Joyce and Chloe both laugh, then sigh in exactly the same way. The rest of the meal goes smoothly, if not a little quiet.

 

“ _This isn’t so bad I guess._ " Chloe thinks.

 

As they both finish, Chloe gets up and stretches. David leaves money on the table and they walk to the door.

 

"Bye, Joyce," David calls back.

 

"Bye, Mom!" Chloe shouts.

 

Walking back into the parking lot, Chloe’s eyes land on Frank’s RV again. She pats the wad of money from Trevor in her pocket. “Hey,” she says to David “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

 

"You sure?" David says.

 

“Yeah…” Chloe shoves her hands in her pockets “It's been years since I’ve been up this early. Wanna see what the town is like when I’m asleep, y’know?”

 

"Okay, I guess… I'll see you after work then." David looks at her almost confused.

 

“Yeah. See ya.” Chloe pats the roof of his car and takes off walking down the street.

 

David pulls the car out of the lot. As soon as he turns the corner, Chloe reverses direction, walking across the Two Whales lot to Frank’s RV. Frank opens the door and Chloe jumps in.

 

"What the fuck, Price? It's like six-thirty," he grumbles, pulling his open robe closed.

 

“ _Thank fuck he’s wearing boxers._ " Chloe gags internally.

 

“I was in the area.” Chloe crosses her arms “Look. Do you want your money or not?”

 

"Of course I want my fucking money." Frank grabs a beer from the fridge, offering one to Chloe.

 

Chloe waves her hand in the negative. Frank shrugs. She pulls the wad of money from her pocket and hands it to Frank. He sets his beer down, counting it.

 

"This is light," he tells Chloe.

 

“That’s what Trevor gave me.”

 

"What about Justin? And that Vortex whore?" Frank asks.

 

"Justin said he'll get back to you. The whore lost my tail." Chloe explains

 

“Well fuck. It's something.” Frank tosses the wad of money on the table.

 

Chloe stands, looking at him.

 

“Was there something else?” Frank asks, still angry at being woken up

 

"No, that's it," she says.

 

“Can you let me get back to fucking bed?” Frank downs the rest of his beer

 

“Ugh.” Chloe grimaces, walking down the stairs and out the door, slamming it behind her.

 

* * *

 

David pats his thigh. “ _Shit my wallet._ ”

 

He turns the car right, rounding the next block to drive back to the diner. Pulling up slowly, he drives around the end of the diner just as Chloe climbs out of Frank’s RV. His eyes narrow as Chloe turns her head either way before walking down the sidewalk away from the Two Whales and David’s car. He parks and walks back into the diner.

 

“Forget something?” Joyce hands David his wallet

 

David chuckles, shoving the wallet into his pocket. "Thanks, hon." He kisses her on the cheek.

 

"You're welcome. You'd better get going now. You're gonna be late." she reminds her husband.

 

“Yeah…” he goes to the door, stopping before he walks out “Hey, Joyce? What do you know about the RV in the lot there?”

 

Joyce peers out the window. “Oh, that’s just Frank. Not sure if he’s all above board, but he seems nice enough. Man sure loves his beans.”

 

"Mhmm," David says, walking out. "Thanks again, hon."

 

David walks out, the bell jingling on the door as it closes. He marches across the lot, knocking on Frank’s door.

 

"Dammit, Price! What now?" Frank says before swinging the door open.

 

David grabs Frank by the collar of his robe, pushing him into his trailer.

 

"What the fuck, man?" Frank yells as Pompidou barks from the bedroom behind the door.

 

"You're the one selling my daughter drugs?" David holds Frank up by his robe.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. Get the fuck out of my house!”

 

“Bullshit. I can smell the grass from the diner.” David pushes Frank backwards into a seat, pointing at him, his face flush with anger “Leave Chloe alone, or we’re gonna have problems, you got me?”

 

Frank looks up, astonished “Yea, man. Jesus.”

 

"Good." David goes down the steps. "Oh. And have a nice day, Frank." David slams the door of the RV.

 

* * *

 

"Okay, Price. Easy job today. Some dude named Toby owes me like 50 bucks for some dirt weed. He's a pushover." Frank says.

 

"No problem. This is actually kinda fun." Chloe cracks her knuckles.

 

"Well if you wanna do more than pay back what you owe, maybe I can set you up with something else." Frank writes in his ledger.

 

“I’m good, Frank. I just wanna get square.”

 

Frank nods “Fair enough, Price.”

 

Chloe pets Pompidou goodbye before leaving the RV.

 

* * *

 

David sighs, watching Chloe climb out of Frank’s RV again. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and dials.

 

“Officer Berry?” he says into the phone “Yeah. I’ve got something that might interest you…”

 

* * *

 

"Thanks for dinner, Mom," Chloe says, patting her belly.

 

"Yeah, everything was delicious as usual, Joyce," David adds.

 

"Well, you're welcome. And you're welcome to help next time." Joyce laughs

 

A knock comes on the door. Joyce answers it.

 

"Officer Berry. What can we do for you today?" Joyce's voice carries from the door into the dining room.

 

"Ma'am, is your daughter home?" Berry asks.

 

"What? What's this about?" Joyce asks.

 

David stands, walking to the door. “What’s up, Andy?”

 

"Well, we got a tip earlier this week about a local drug dealer," Berry says.

 

"What does that have to do with Chloe?" Joyce demands to know.

 

"Well, we found her name on one of his log books. I'm gonna need her to come with me." Berry continues, reaching for his cuffs.

 

"What the fuck?" Chloe stands by the phone.

 

"Andy, there's no need to do this," David tells the officer.

 

“Actually there is, I’m afraid.” he opens the cuffs, motioning to Chloe “Ma’am, if you would come with me?”

 

"No fucking way!" Chloe stands her ground.

 

"Chloe, don't make it worse than it has to be. I'm sure Andy will work everything out." David says.

 

"We'll try to make everything as smooth as possible, Chloe," Berry tells her.

 

Joyce tears up.

 

“Fuck.” Chloe says, walking to the door “God fucking dammit!”

 

Joyce leans on David as Berry cuffs Chloe.

 

"Chloe. I'm sorry. I didn't think this would happen. I was just trying to keep you away from Frank." David apologizes.

 

“You did this?” Chloe yells “What the fuck?!”

 

"David! You didn't." Joyce leans away from him, looking up.

 

"I didn't think…" David's voice fades.

 

"David. This is Chloe's third strike!" Joyce pushes him away, shouting now.

 

“David you asshole!” Chloe shouts, struggling against the cuffs. Berry holds her arms behind her back, pushing her over the hood of his squad car as Joyce and David run out onto the lawn. “I hope those thirty pieces of silver drag you down, you Judas prick!” Chloe yells, being shoved into the back of Berry’s car.

 

"I didn't know she read the Bible…" David says softly, stunned.

 

“Enough to call you a traitor, you fascist fuck!” Chloe shouts from the back of the car, window half down. Her screams and crying trail off as Berry drives away.

 

David tries to comfort Joyce, but she pushes him away, slamming the door in his face before he can go back into the house.

  



	6. Welcome to the Tombs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence.

Max leaps out passenger door of the rusty muscle car, feet beating on the grass and dirt to carry her as fast as they can.

 

“Wait!” David Madsen shouts, climbing from the driver’s seat. He slams the door, breaking into a sprint of his own in pursuit.

 

Past the refrigerator. Past the bottles. Past the shooting range. Past the junker where Chloe held her. Max knows exactly where she’s going as the tears stream down her face. She runs alongside the rusted out school bus, dropping to her knees at the dead end.

 

“No, God, no.” Max cries, her hands digging into the dirt “Please, God, no!”

 

“Max! What are you--” David calls as he catches up to her

 

Max stops digging, falling back, ass on heels. Her arms fall limply. Her head slumps back as a bone-chilling wail surges from her throat, driving the ravens from their perches.

 

David lunges forward, hitting his knees running, his own hands disappearing into the dark earth.

 

“No.” He shouts, digging feverishly “No!”

 

A snapping sound freezes David in place. His breaths cut the air raggedly as he slowly lifts his outstretched fist. A black cord dangles from his hand, three bullets swaying at the end.

 

“No. Please, God no!” he mutters. “Not Chloe.” His soft words echo in the otherwise silent junkyard.

 

A gust of wind stirs the bullets, their soft clinking an ominous wind chime.

 

David’s roar tears through Max’s ears, half standing as his fist flies through the air to find a piece of scrap metal. He drops back to his knees, the metal now even more deserving of its home in the junkyard.

 

“Who does this?” David’s voice falls to a whisper as he holds the necklace in cupped hands “What kind of world does this?”

 

“Who does this?” Chloe’s voice echoes through Max’s head “What kind of world does this?”

 

“ _I did this._ ” Max’s mind buzzes through her sobs “ _This is my fault. I did this to Chloe._ ”

 

David’s fist closes around the necklace again as he stands. “Can you tell me who did this, Max?” David asks, suddenly eerily calm

 

Max looks up at David through bleary eyes, sucking up the snot running from her nose and hiccuping on her tears. “It was…” Max grits her teeth to stifle a whine as her chest knots “It was Nathan… Nathan Prescott.”

 

“You’re sure?” His eyes never move from his stepdaughter’s shallow grave.

 

Max nods, gulping loudly. “And.. And Mark Jefferson…” Her hands raises shakily, finger pointing at the shallow grave. “This is where they buried Rachel, too.”

 

David unholsters his pistol, ejecting the magazine, ensuring that it is indeed loaded. He reholsters it. “Thank you, Max.” he says flatly, fists clenched into ten white, dirt covered knuckles.

 

Max sobs, looking down into the unceremonious pit. In the distance she can hear David’s car start and drive away.

 

“I’m sorry, Chloe! I’m so sorry!” Max cries.

 

She fumbles with her messenger bag. Unable to work her hands she dumps its contents onto the ground.

 

“I can fix this, Chloe. I know I can fix this.” she says, holding up a photograph of a butterfly and a bucket.

 

Through teary eyes, Max focuses on the photograph, gritting her teeth as her sobs tear across the timestream.

 

* * *

 

 

Max’s camera spits out the picture of the butterfly. She draws a sharp breath, pressing herself against the bathroom wall, her eyes already filling with tears.

 

“ _I just have to tell Nathan to leave like the first time._ ” Max tells herself “ _Then I can figure everything out. I can fix this._ ”

 

Max’s fingers contort, the pads of her fingers gripping the wall as Nathan enters and begins monologuing. Chloe enters soon after. Max grits her teeth waiting for her time to intervene.

 

“Let’s talk bidness.” Chloe says to Nathan

 

Images of Chloe’s corpse in a shallow grave flash into Max’s mind.

 

“ _Stop!_ ” Max shouts in her head

 

“I got nothing for you.” Nathan continues.

 

The picture of Chloe curled up on Nathan’s dorm room floor flashes before Max’s eyes.

 

“ _No! No!_ ” Max commands the dark thoughts to leave her, beginning to hyperventilate.

 

“I know you been pumpin' drugs n' shit to kids around here.” Chloe slides between Nathan and the door, slamming her hands on the side of the sink.

 

Images of Kate, Rachel, and Chloe in the dark room explode into Max’s head in rapid fire.

 

“Nobody would even miss your punk ass!” Nathan shouts

 

Visions of Nathan delivering a fatal gutshot to Chloe replay in Max’s mind. A horrible guttural shriek rings through the bathroom as Max scrambles around the corner.

 

“What the fuck?” Nathan turns just in time to see Max.

 

Max stumbles, a loud metallic **clang** reverberating through the room as she does, but she never stops in her rush toward Nathan. Nearing Nathan, Max’s right arm swings back, lifts high into the air, and slams down on top of Nathan. Nathan instantly crumples, falling to a heap on the floor.

 

Chloe recoils, back pressing against the door. “What the hell?”

 

Flashbulbs explode in Max’s minds eye. Visions of Rachel Amber restrained in the Dark Room.

 

“ _Rachel in the Dark Room. Rachel in the Dark Room._ ” Nathan’s disembodied voice calls out to her from nowhere

 

Max drops to her knees, horrible noises escape her somewhere between aching sobs and primal screams. She raises both hands above her head. Chloe’s hand aimlessly searches for the door handle, her eyes unable to look away from the silver hammer in Max’s hands as Max brings it down again and again, each blow accompanied by a punctuating yelp.

 

“Oh my fucking God.” Chloe covers her mouth with her hand

 

Max's closed eyes open at Chloe’s words. She looks up to Chloe, her face mirroring the horror on Chloe’s. She looks down at what’s left of Nathan, dropping the hammer to the ground with a loud **clang**.

 

“Oh… shit…” Falls from Max’s lips. She raises her hand to rewind, but before she can the sickly orange bubble of time comes to a close and locks her actions into reality, her consciousness rushing back up the timeline and out of the memory.

 

“Max?!” Chloe screams

 

Max shakes her head, clearing the sudden fog.

 

“ _Where’s the butterf--_ ” her thought is cut off by the horrific sight in front of her

 

“Oh fuck!” Max shouts, scurrying back from Nathan’s mangled body backwards until she hits a toilet stall “What the fuck? Oh my fucking God!”

 

“Max!” Chloe shouts again “What the fuck did you do?!”

 

Max looks up to Chloe, her face awash with terror and confusion “Chloe?!”

 

Chloe’s hand finds the handle of the door. She twists the handle, falling backwards through the door as it opens.

 

“Chloe? What are you doing here?” David’s voice carries through the door. He turns to look into the bathroom. “Oh my sweet Jesus.”

 

* * *

 

Voices and sounds rush past Max’s head like gusts of wind. Bright lights flashing images of timelines gone by, timelines that could be, and timelines that exist, blinding her. Her body feels weightless in the seconds it takes her to regain consciousness, returning her senses to her in waves.

 

Regaining the sense of touch, Max wobbles on her feet, finding balance. Her hand flexes around a moist, bready mass in her hand, squeezing and then letting go. With her hearing coming back, Max’s ears flood with the sound of a crowd.

 

“ _Some kind of cafeteria?_ ” Max thinks

 

“Are yeh feckin kidding me?” a woman’s gruff voice burns Max’s ears “So this is what then? Maxwell Silver Hammer finally rebuking the Clovers?”

 

Max feels her mouth move wordlessly, her voice caught in her throat.

 

“Fine. ‘Ave it yer way.” the voice says

 

Max’s vision returns in rapidly converging blots of color just in time to see a fairly tall blonde in a denim outfit pull back her arm and throw her fist right into Max’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

Time seems to slow in front of Sara’s eyes as Haley’s fist flies forward. The small, brown haired woman takes the punch right between the eyes. Max’s body stiffens and she falls, tipping backwards on her heels like a falling tree. Sara feels her body moving before she can process her actions. She pushes off from the table, dashing toward Max. By the time she gets to the girl, she’s already hit the floor. Haley winds up for another punch.

 

Sara’s perception of time returns to normal as she dives down to shield Max. Sara lifts Max’s limp form into her, cradling her as Haley’s heavy punch lands on her shoulder blade. Woman surround them on all sides, whooping for a fight. Haley sneers, delivering a stiff kick to Sara’s ribs.

 

“That’s enough, Haley!” Ashwood shouts, fighting her way through the crowd

 

“Oh yeah?” Haley cracks her knuckles in her palm “You and what army are gonna stop me?”

 

An air-raid style klaxon goes off, whining as red lights flash overhead and above the doors.

 

“Probably that one.” Ashwood smirks, dropping to one knee, then both, then lying on her stomach with both hands behind her head.

 

Hardt leads a platoon of faceless guards in riot gear into the mess hall.

 

“Feck me.” Haley sighs, dropping down to her stomach as well.

 

* * *

 

Max feels weightless as she floats listlessly through the darkness. “ _What happened?_ ” she thinks. The darkness around her slowly gains a deep red quality, pulsing with the heartbeat Max now feels in her chest. In the red glow, she can make out another figure. Moving towards it in a manner that Max has no thoughts of figuring out, she reaches out and grabs it. Suddenly she can see the figure plain as day in the darkness. Chloe Price floats before her.

 

“Chloe!” Max wraps her arms around her.

 

“Max…” Chloe’s voice caries fear and dejection “What did you do?”

 

“What? Chloe I don’t--Arrgh!” Max’s words are cut short by a throbbing pain in her head. The darkness around them beats faster, each pulse sending a shockwave of pain through Max’s head. Chloe begins to float away. “No! Don’t go!” Max calls out, reaching for Chloe as everything fades to white.

 

“ _Ugh. My head._ ” Max thinks, reaching for her head. A too familiar tug comes at Max’s wrists. “ _Am I handcuffed to_ another _hospital bed?_ ”

 

“Ya damn foolish, child.” an earthy voice speaks to Max. She opens her eyes, looking up at a tall dark skinned woman.

 

“Where am I?” Max shakes her head, trying to clear the fog

 

“Still in prison.” The woman says nonchalantly

 

“Prison?” Max asks.

 

“Now I know O’Haley used to be a boxer, but I don’t think she knocked ya brains out.” The woman’s curly ponytail bounces as she scoffs “Quite a stunt you pulled.”

 

Scooting towards the top of the bed to try and sit up, Max looks around. The hospital beds tell her she’s in some kind of infirmary. “What stunt?”

 

“Oh everybody heard about it by now. You throwing that muffin on the ground? Puh-retty dark shade for a girl like you to be throwing.” The woman shakes her head

 

Max stutters, each thought a complete nonstarter for words that try to fall from her mouth.

 

“So what’re you going to do now?” the woman asks Max, putting a clipboard in the basket at the end of the bed

 

“What--What do you mean?” Max looks back up at her

 

“Without the Clovers. Lotta lotta women in here would love to get their rep taking you down after what you did to the Prescotts.”

 

Max’s heart sinks, looking away as thoughts of the bathroom flood her mind. “I--I didn’t--”

 

“Yah, yah. We’ve heard it all before.” the woman takes up a tone that mocks Max “I don’t know what happened! One second I was taking a picture of a pwetty pwetty butterfwy,” her tone becomes serious again “And the next I was sitting over the guy whose face I turned into mashed potatoes.”

 

Max bites her tongue, knowing it's the truth. She looks away, eyes narrowing in disgust of everything. Herself most of all. The woman suddenly shuts off the heart rate monitor, pulling the clip from Max’s finger. Walking to the door, she knocks on the glass. A hispanic man in a green uniform opens the door.

 

“She can go back to her cell now, Hernandez.” she tells him

 

“Thanks, Jackson.” he nods, walking to Max’s bed.

 

He unshackles her from the bed before cuffing her again and helping to lift her to her feet. He hooks his arm under Max’s, walking her across the infirmary and out into the hall. As they move further down the corridor a low rumbling sound begins to grow to a dull roar as they reach a high security door. Hernandez swipes his badge, eliciting a loud buzz. The lighted dome above the door turns from yellow to green. The door swings open, the noise from inside hitting Max like a wave.

 

Walking onto the catwalk, Max notices the noise die down. Turning her head, she sees all manner of eyes watching her. Peering down, she spots the blonde that knocked her out. The woman stares back up at her from behind a closed cell door. She looks Max dead in the eye, her brow furrowing as she draws her thumb across her neck in a slice. With her eyes transfixed on the blonde woman below, Max doesn’t notice the the woman hanging onto the cell bars next to her until it's too late. Suddenly Max is pulled sideways, slamming into the steel bars. A pale arm slithers around her neck like a snake, pulling her tightly against the bars.

 

“You’re gonna look real pretty in _my_ cell.” The voice coils into Max’s ear with a sickening familiarity.

 

“Let her go, Sara!” Hernandez commands

 

Sara’s warm breath tickles Max’s ear, sending shivers up her spines.

 

Sara chuckles softly into Max’s ear “That’s exactly what I want to see. I’m gonna paint you _soooo_ pretty, little bird.”

 

Hernandez pulls his baton from his belt, whacking the bars next to Sara’s head. She recoils, hissing like a viper as she releases Max and retreats into the dim cell. Max spills forward, turning just in time to land on her ass. She scurrys backwards until she hits the rail of the catwalk. She stares into the dark cell only able to make out the outline of the woman’s orange jumpsuit.

 

“Next time I’ll put you in the hole, Jefferson.” Hernandez points his baton into the cell

 

Sara slinks back into the light, her fingers wrapping around the bars, her eyes staring directly into Max’s.

 

Max’s mind goes blank as she look up into the woman’s eyes. She sits frozen, her eyes locked into this woman’s face. Even as Hernandez lifts her to her feet and drags her along, her head turns to keep looking.

 

“Sleep tight, Maxine. I’ll see you soon.” Sara calls playfully after Max

 

Hernandez pushes Max into the cell next to Sara Jefferson’s, the door rolling closed behind her with a loud bang. She stands frozen, the woman’s face burned into her head.

 

“ _That hair. Those glasses._ ” Max’s mind races

 

“Lights out in five!” Hernandez shouts over the cellblock and pulling Max from her trance.

 

Max turns, walking to the bars skittishly, watching as the loose crowds of women disperse into their cells. Once the women are inside, the doors of every cell roll shut in unison. The high overhead lights shut off in a wave, each row shuttering with a loud bang. Max turns around, taking in her bare concrete cell. She curls up in the lumpy bed and sobs herself into exhaustion thinking of Chloe, and eventually cries herself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Sara clutches Max’s limp body to her chest, cradling her head. “It’s okay. It's okay. I won’t let her hurt you again.” she coos quietly to the unconscious girl, grunting as the toe of a shoe finds her ribs.

 

Heavy boots approach Sara as the siren rings above. “Let go of her, Jefferson.” Hardt’s harsh voice commands

 

Ashwood turns her head over to face Hardt and Jefferson “Hey, she’s protecting the kid, okay? Lay off.”

 

Hardt sneers at Ashwood, bending down to grab Jefferson’s shoulder. He pulls her away, Max falling limply to the floor. “Aw fuck.” he mutters before standing. He calls out “Get a stretcher. We got one down over here.”

 

Sergeant Green and a short male guard in riot gear trot over to Max with a plastic backboard. Green slides her onto it as gingerly as possible before strapping her down.

 

She grabs the handles on one end, nodding to the short guard. “To be with the lifting now, yes?”

 

“Yes!” he says as they lift Max on the board, carrying her out of the mess hall.

 

“Hernandez!” Hardt shouts. Hernandez jogs over, removing his riot helmet

 

“Yes sir?” he stands at attention

 

“Take Jefferson to her cell.” Hardt’s head motions towards Sara, sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest. He grabs O’Haley by the arm, lifting her to her feet. “I’ve got his one.”

 

“Yes sir!” Hernandez salutes the captain, reaching for Sara’s arm.

 

Sara shirks him off, pushing herself to her feet. “I can stand on my own, thank you.” she scowls, staring down Haley in the moment before Hernandez escorts her from the mess.

 

“Now finish your damn breakfast!” Hardt’s voice booms through the room. “And so help me the next person to start a fight is getting their skull caved in!” He roughly drags Haley across the room to the cellblock as the siren and lights are shut off.

 

Sara walks into her cell, turning to face Hernandez as the door slams. “Why am I being punished? I was _protecting_ her!”

 

“I’m just following orders.” Hernandez holds his helmet under his arm

 

Sara sighs resignedly, crossing her arms as she sits on her bed.

 

Hernandez sighs, looking either way before leaning in close to the bars and lowering his voice. “Look. I believe you. But that doesn’t mean I can do anything about it. I’m just an officer. Not a sergeant. Not the fucking captain.”

 

Sara remains silent, freezing him out.

 

“Yeah. Okay. Great talk. See you tomorrow, Jefferson.” he says, waving flippantly as he turns to walk away

 

Sara stews in her thoughts as the hours go by.

 

“ _Why did she do that?_ ” _After what Mark told me I didn’t think she had it in her to go against Haley._ ”

 

Trying to keep herself busy, Sara takes stock of her supplies, unpacking the cardboard box. “Plenty of black. More than enough white.” she murmurs to herself. “There you are, precious.” Sara lifts a tube of blue paint from the box, examining it thoroughly before setting it back down next to the other tubes.

 

“Hey…” a friendly voice calls into the cell

 

Sara stands to see Ashwood standing next to the bars.

 

“Hello, Ashwood. Come to gloat at my foolhardiness?” Sara crosses her arms, cocking her head

 

“No… I uh… Wanted to say I’m sorry.” Ashwood mumbles

 

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you.” Sarah smirks

 

Ashwood groans, rolling her head. “I fuckin’ sorry, okay? You’re the only one in here with the balls to even _try_ to help other people.”

 

“Hmm. Well… I appreciate you saying that.” Sara lowers her shoulders

 

“I just… Being in here…” Ashwood leans her head against the bars “It's hard to remember people can be good.”

 

Sara sighs, walking to the bars. “I know.” she gently caresses Ashwood’s cheek. “But they can.” Sara lifts Ashwood’s chin. “You are.”

 

Ashwood forces a smile. “Thanks.” She stares at Sara for a few moments until the lunchtime buzzer rings. She pulls herself away, looking down toward the line at the mess. “Do you want me to bring you something?”

 

Sara turns away, walking back into her cell. “No. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

 

“Are you sure? I could---”

 

Sara cuts her off, kneeling down in front of her supply box, looking sideways over her shoulder with a smile. “Go on. I’m sure Hikohito is waiting for you.”

 

With a genuine smile, Ashwood pats the bars a couple of times before taking off.

 

Sara packs the paint, brushes, and other supplies back into the box meticulously before standing, thumbing through a short stack of blank canvases leaning against the wall. She turns to look above her cell door to the portrait of her brother, Mark. Taking a seat on her bed, Sara lies back and closes her eyes in the hopes that a nap will pass the time.

 

“Max is… shy. Talented… but… she needs a firm hand to guide her.” Mark’s words call out to Sara from the inky void “Left to her own devices, she’s… listless. She’s just… begging to… follow instruction.”

 

Sara sees a casually dressed Max Caulfield walking in the darkness, holding an arm across herself nervously.

 

“Like a… lost puppy.” Mark continues

 

The Max recoils, as if somebody Sara can’t hear is shouting at her. Her eyes go wide and she nods frantically before dropping to the ground, arms moving rapidly around like she’s gathering something. She holds a hand up as to offer her gatherings, shrinking back down and shaking.

 

Sara’s eyes open. The stream of light that washed her room in orange glow has long left. Sitting over the edge of the bed, Sara folds her hands, thinking about Max.

 

“ _I need to take control._ ” she tells herself “ _Just show her who’s boss. Show her who it is that’s going to keep her safe._ ”

 

“Me.” She says aloud.

 

Sara throws herself to her feet, pacing in the dim cell, the only light leaking in coming from the overhead lights in the cellblock. The door buzzer draws Sara’s attention, moving her to the bars of her cell. Her racing heart skips a beat when she sees Max Caulfield walk through the security door, knuckles going white gripping the bars. Max walks shakily, a newborn fawn in a den of wolves.

 

“ _Perfect_.” Sara thinks

 

The blue-eyed beauty begins to walk past, her head turned away, eyes downcast. Before Sara can think of what to say, her arm reaches out, looping around Max’s elbow and pulling her roughly into the bars. Max stands frozen in shock as Sara’s left arm snakes through the bars and around Max’s neck.

 

“You’re gonna look real pretty in _my_ cell.” Sara tells her, hoping to inspire fear. Max shivers like a leaf as the words burrow into her ear, Sara’s ragged breath on her ear and neck.

 

Sara’s lips curl in a wicked smile, unable to hold back a snigger. “ _Perfect._ ”

 

“That’s exactly what I want to see. I’m gonna paint you _sooo pretty_.” Sara whispers, drinking in the girl’s fear

 

A loud clang next to Sara’s head sends her reeling back, forcing her to release her muse. Hernandez stands tall with his baton pointed vaguely in Sara’s direction. Sara ignores him, her eyes instead focused on Max, a shaking stunned heap pushed against the catwalk railing.

 

Sara smirks as she slinks back into the light, her eyes intently locked on Max’s beautiful blues. “Sleep tight, Maxine.” Sara’s fingers absentmindedly curl and uncurl around the bars. “I’ll see you soon.” she singsongs.

 

Sara continues staring to Max’s still wide eyes as Hernandez pulls Max to her feet, dragging her along to the very next cell, Max’s eyes transfixed on Sara. With Max out of sight, Sara withdraws into her own cell, her cheeks burning from the intensity of her smile.

 

“ _Wonderful._ ” she tells herself, sitting in the dark

 

“Lights out!” a guard calls somewhere in the distance before the lights shutter

 

Sara reaches under her mattress, pulling out the reflective square of glass. She can’t help looking at her own grin before sneaking over to the bars. Reaching through, she uses the scant light to peer into Max’s cell. Sara’s grin washes away as she watches Max sob silently, curled up on her bed.

  
She studies Max’s curled form, rising and falling with her cries. A relieved sigh escapes Sara’s mouth when she realizes Max’s breaths have slowed to that of sleep. She stows the mirror under her mattress, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. “ _Don’t worry, little bird. I’m the only one that makes you cry from now on._ ”


	7. Hard Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Hey. You're back. Uhhhh sorry its been like 9 months. Its been kind of hectic over here. But like I always said this story wasn't abandoned. This chapter has been a long time coming so I really hope you enjoy it. We're caught up to Max's time at Pine Bay in my first fic Best Intentions now, so if you've read that you have a pretty good idea where this is heading. Or do you? Either way I hope you enjoy this retelling of that chapter, rewritten from the ground up for Arcadia Prison Blues. 
> 
> I'll let you get to reading now, but I wanted to say a big "THANK YOU" to everybody who's read this and my other fics and everybody who's commented and encouraged me to continue. So thank you. Now get reading, I know you've been waiting!
> 
> BTW Possible trigger warning: This chapter contains a scene of dubious consent, hence the Non-Con tag just to be on the safe side.

Max smiles, feeling the warmth of the sun shining on her face. She opens her eyes, looking down at the railroad ties beneath her. She wobbles, but manages to maintain her balance on the rail. A soft giggle perks up Max’s ears and lights up her eyes.

 

"I gotcha." Chloe's voice reddens Max's ears as she realizes her hand is in Chloe's. They giggle, hand firmly in hand, as they continue down the tracks.

 

“ _I’m so glad I get to spend time with Chloe again._ ” Max thinks, smiling widely as she looks over at the tall bluenette. Suddenly Max feels a tug on her wrist.

 

"C'mon," Chloe says, forcing half a smile. "We should head back before it gets too dark."

 

Making a playful whine, Max steps down from the rail. With each step, the duo draws closer and closer until Max's arm is wrapped around Chloe's waist and Chloe's arm around Max's shoulder.

 

“My powers might not last, Chloe…” Max’s voice escapes her throat.

 

“That’s okay. We will.” Chloe gives her a squeeze. “Forever.”

 

Relieved by the words, Max smiles, turning to look at Chloe’s face. Chloe smiles back just as wide. Their eyes meet, blinding Max with a flashbulb explosion.

 

Max’s eyes flutter as she finds her sight again. “What?”

 

“I double dare you,” Chloe grins impishly. “Kiss me now.”

Without a second though Max stretches out on her tiptoes, practically launching herself toward Chloe as she firmly plants a kiss on her lips. Max smiles against Chloe’s face, lips locked together as time comes to a stop around them.

 

“ _Please,_ ” Max thinks, “ _Let me stay here forever._ ”

 

The ear-splitting clang of cell doors sliding open wakes Max, her eyes shooting open.

 

“Front and center, ladies!” a voice booms.

 

Max pushes herself to her feet, eyes shooting back and forth as she looks around the concrete cell in a state of disorientation. “ _Oh… shit._ ”

 

“That means now!” the voice calls again.

 

Max steps across her cell, exiting onto the catwalk with her right hand over her forehead to shield her eyes from the harsh lights above. As her eyes adjust, Max’s hand slides down to rub the left side of her neck before coming down to reach across her body and hold her elbow. She turns her head as she looks around, heart racing as she looks down and sees the blonde woman glaring back up at her. Max’s eyes go wide, unable to move until a guard shouts somewhere to her left. Max turns her head to the left as an olive-skinned woman in a green uniform walks past her. Her heart drops in her chest as her eyes land on the imposing woman in an orange jumpsuit.

 

“ _Jefferson,_ ” the guard’s words ring in Max’s ears from last night as this woman, this _Jefferson,_ eyes her up a down, a ravenous grin on her face.

 

“Showering time!” the olive-skinned guard shouts.

 

Max’s body freezes as Sara Jefferson walks toward her. Head spinning around in panic, she sees the women to her right are moving further down the catwalk. A small “Eep” escape’s Max as she tries to get as far away from Jefferson as possible. Coming to the back of the line, Max does all she can to avert her eyes from the woman behind her. She stares down at the heels of the woman in front of her, stepping forward as the woman does.

 

“ _Oh, God. I can feel her looking at me. She’s right behind me. I know it. I can_ hear _her breathing._ ” Max’s mind hums.

 

Looking up, Max’s eyes go wide, scanning the steam-filled room. She stands in the doorway until the olive-skinned guard motions for her to enter. With shaking hands Max unbuttons her denim shirt, dropping it into a laundry cart. The blue pants fall quickly around Max’s ankles, her face grimacing as she becomes more and more exposed. Pulling her tanktop over her head, she drapes her arm across her chest, covering her chest as much as possible. With one hand, she fishes a thumb into the band of her panties. Stifling a whimper as she bends at the knees, Max snakes them down her legs, tossing them and the tanktop into the cart. Her hand immediately shoots between her legs, fingers twining through the fine brown hair as she holds herself, trying to preserve what little feelings of dignity and safety she can.

 

“Don’t drop the soap,” Sara laugh from behind Max.

 

Max’s skin crawls at her words. She holds herself tighter, walking on eggshells into the haze. Finding an open shower head, Max bends at the waist, grabbing the handle with her arm still around her chest. She jumps with a yelp as cold water pours onto her back. She shivers, teeth chattering, as she waits for the water to warm up. When the water finally becomes tepid, she sticks her head under the stream, sighing deeply and letting the water wash over her. A soft sigh escapes under Max’s breath as her mind wanders.

 

With her mind as far away as possible from the concrete and steel of the man-made hell around her, Max doesn't hear the dull murmurs of conversation die out. Likewise, she doesn't hear the squishy footsteps as they come up from behind. In an instant Max is driven out of her thoughts and into the wall in front of her with a hand digging against her scalp.

 

“I been waiting for you to get kicked out of the Clovers,” a husky woman’s voice belts out. One of her hands holds Max’s hair, the other trails down her back. “You ain’t one of us no more. That makes you fair game.” The hand continues to trail down into the small of Max’s back as she whimpers, beginning to flash back to the Dark Room.

 

"Back off!" a voice calls out through Max's still hazy mind "She's mine!"

 

“ _Chloe?!_ ” Max’s foggy brain thinks.

 

Max’s head is pulled back by the hand in her hair. When it lets goes, Max is flung forward into the wall, hitting her head. She spins around, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession as she pushes her back against the wall.

 

* * *

 

Sara grins, eyes glued to Max's back as she watches her undress. _“Such a magnificent form,”_ Sara thinks as she admires the gentle curvature of Max's body.

 

“Don't drop the soap, Maxine,” she chuckles as she follows Max in.

 

Smirking as Max jumps under the cold water, Sara climbs into her own lukewarm stream, sighing as she closes her eyes and allows the water to flow through her hair. Sara's ears are piqued, breaking her short-lived solace. Heavy, squishy, wet footsteps bring Sara back to reality in time to see Bertha waddle up behind Max.

 

Sara’s heart drops in her chest, realizing what's about to happen. By the time Sara reaches the other side of the shower, Bertha has pushed Max into the wall, fat hands on Max's small frame. “Back off! She’s mine!” Sara shouts as she wraps an arm around Bertha’s neck, pulling her off of Max. Her other arm hooks around her wrist before she wrenches back on Big Bertha’s head in a chokehold. Silence overtakes the showers.

 

“Stay away from her,” Sara says right into Bertha’s ear, still choking her. “I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?” Sara squeezes even tighter on Bertha’s neck to punctuate her threat.

 

“Ack! Fuck!” Bertha chokes out. “Okay! Okay!”

 

Sara turns back and forth, swinging Bertha. She loses her balance as Sara pulls her from side to side, falling to the ground as Sara whips her away. After a few deep breaths, Sara relaxes, straightening her stance. “Does anybody _else_ want to try to take what's mine?” she asks aloud. The only sound is a few still running showers as the other inmates stand shocked. “No? Good,” Sara says as she walks toward Max, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck and gently coaxing her from the wall. Max freezes like a deer in headlights as Sara’s hand slides down her back to grab a big handful of her ass.

 

“This ass is mine,” Sara announces to the room before pulling a beet red Max across the shower room and through the dressing room door. Max shivers inside the dressing room, still trying to cover herself as she tries to process what just happened.

 

“Put these on,” Sara commands, handing Max a fresh set of underwear and an orange jumpsuit. Sara, hastily donning her own jumpsuit, retrieves a gray washcloth from the laundry basket. Returning to an already dressed Max, Sara grabs the girls wrist, lifting her hand and shoving the square of cloth into it. “Don’t let go of this, got it?”

 

“Got it,” Max nods. Sara grabs the half of the cloth dangling from Max’s hand giving it a good tug. Max’s grip is steadfast.

 

“Good girl,” Sara coos. She tucks the free end of the washcloth into the pocket of her jumpsuit and turns to leave. “Come along now, Maxine. And don’t dawdle.”

 

* * *

 

Max barely registers the voice in her ears as the garments are thrust into her hands. With zero hesitation, Max jumps into the fresh undergarments before thrusting her legs into the jumpsuit and pulling it over her shoulders. Max turns as Sara grabs her arm.

 

“Don’t let go of this, got it?” she says calmly, shoving a washcloth into Max’s hand. Max stares at Sara, still in a haze from the events in the shower. “I don’t like repeating myself. Do you understand?”

 

“Y-Yes,” Max stammers out.

 

Sara’s hand snatches the end of the washcloth and easily pulls it from Max’s hand. “What did I _just_ tell you?” Sara scowls.

 

“I-I’m sorry--” Max begins to apologize as Sara brings her arm across her chest, winding up for a stinging backhand. Max’s eyes shoot open, her other hand flexing as she bids time to reverse its course. The washcloth flies back up into Max’s hand.

 

“Got it?” Sara’s calm voice repeats.

 

“Got it,” Max confirms, her fingers squeezed tightly around the cloth. Her brow furrows a bit as she looks into Sara’s face and finds it difficult to not see Mark Jefferson’s features. Sara reaches up and grabs the cloth. She gives it a hard tug this way and that, but Max’s grip remains firm.

 

“Good girl,” Sara coos, dragging Max’s arm along as she shoves the washcloth into her pocket. “Come along now, Maxine. And don’t dawdle.”

 

Max stumbles forward as Sara begins to walk. Knowing what Sara will do should she let go, Max holds on tightly to the washcloth as she follows a breath's length behind Sara. Looking down through the railing of the catwalk, Max sees a tall, blonde woman staring at her intently.

 

 _“The one that knocked me out,”_ Max remembers.

 

“Eyes on me, Maxine,” Sara orders. “Don’t give Haley another thought.”

 

Max’s head snaps forward, her gaze landing between Sara’s shoulder blades. _“How did she know?”_

 

“I want you to put Haley O’Haley and the Clovers as far from your mind as possible,” Sara continues as they walk. “I need you _tranquil_.”

 

Max’s heart thumps in her chest with fearful anticipation as they near the end of the hall. Her mind goes blank of everything short of keeping hold of the washcloth and keeping pace with Sara. Sara continues walking past Max’s cell, turning into her own with Max in tow.

 

“You can let go now,” Sara says, turning in the middle of her cell. Max’s eyes remain stuck on Sara as her arm reaches to grab her elbow, hugging herself in nervous habit. Sara blows a stream of air from her nose. “Oh, come now, Maxine. Had I wanted to harm you I would have done it out there,” she gestures toward the cell door, “Where everybody can see.”

 

Max’s head bobs slightly, unsure if she believes the woman but so desperately wanting to. “Sara?” Max asks, the nerves rattling her voice, “Why--Why are you doing this?”

 

“Doing what, exactly?” Sara asks, stepping closer to Max.

 

“Why are you…” Max pauses as Sara comes toe to toe with her, Sara’s five-foot-ten dominating Max’s shorter frame “Protecting me?”

 

“Because, my dear Maxine,” Sara coos soothingly. Her hand reaches up, gently stroking Max’s cheek and brushing her brown hair over her ear. “I refuse to let those troglodytes harm a single hair on the head of my new muse.”

 

“Your…” Max’s mind flashes to Mark Jefferson posing her in the Dark Room. She gulps, blinking the images from her eyes, “muse?”

 

“That’s right,” Sara reaffirms. She puts a hand on either of Max’s shoulders. “My muse.”

 

Max’s head turns, looking away from Sara for the first time since entering the cell. Her eyes are caught by the canvases hanging along the concrete wall. She turns her head to the other side, eyes scanning each painting and drawing without time to take in their contents.

 

Hands still on Max’s shoulders, Sara guides next to the bed before nudging her into sitting on the edge of the bed. “Now you just sit there and try to relax,” she says as she kneels next to the bed. She reaches under the bed and pulls out a folding easel, setting it up between the bed where Max sits and a stool in the corner of the cell. Sara plucks a canvas from the corner, pushing a box with her feet as she walks to the stool and props up the canvas as she sits.

 

Max’s thoughts overwhelm her as she sits. Her face scrunches with fear and confusion as she tries to cobble together the events in the shower. _“I was attacked. That woman wanted to hurt me. But…”_ she looks to Sara, preparing her equipment, _“she saved me.”_

 

Sara holds her thumb up at arm’s length, peering at Max. “Turn toward me, Maxine.”

 

“It’s umm…” Max sniffles as she turns to face Sara, “It's… just Max.”

 

“Your parents gave you the gift of a beautiful name. It would be a shame to waste it.” Sara looks up from the canvas, drawing a circle in the air with her finger. “Your entire body, please.”

 

Max turns her body on the bed, sitting to face Sara and her canvas.

 

“No, no. That won’t do.” Sara steps around the easel and walks toward Max. “I need you posed my way.”

 

Max’s body tenses and her eyes fill with tears as she hears Mark Jefferson shouting “I need you posed my way!” Max’s hands wrap around the frame of the bed, gripping tightly as her chest tightens and heaves.

 

Sitting on the bed next to Max, Sara puts a hand on either of Max’s shoulders and begins rubbing. “Shh… Shh… It's okay,” she whispers. “Just breathe.”

 

Max takes a deep breath. Her chest rattles and shakes as she tries to stop crying. She takes another breath, then another, and another. _“In. Out. In. Out.”_ After a short while of focusing on her breaths and Sara’s gentle rubbing, Max’s breathing returns to normal.

 

* * *

 

Sara breathes deeply and slowly as she rubs Max's shoulders. It surprises Sara just how tense Max is, even with all things considered. She looks like she's just been through a war zone.  It doesn't take long, however, for Max's breathing to calm. Though her shoulders remain quite tense.

 

"There you go," Sara sighs. "Now…"

 

Sara stands and begins posing Max. Sara decides on a pretty standard portrait pose. Legs together, hands on knees, sitting tall and straight. It's a dignified pose. One befitting her muse. With Max posed, Sara pulls the washcloth from her pocket and dabs under her eyes.

 

 _"Such brilliant eyes,"_ Sara thinks, drying Max's tears. Now that Max looks presentable, slight puffiness aside, Sara pockets the cloth again.

 

"Now be a good girl for me and stay just like that," Sara says with a smile.

 

Walking back to her easel, Sara sits and checks and rechecks her angles. When she's satisfied with the way things are lined up she takes up her pastel and puts it to the canvas. It's a slow process but… Sara decides that they have the time. Not like they were going anywhere.

 

As slow as the work is, the time passes quickly for Sara as she hums a tune. Much to her surprise, Max doesn't move. Well not her body, but her eyes do. It seems to Sara that Max is studying her art. Admiring it maybe. Either way, Sara continues marking the canvas as her subject's eyes focus in a spot for a while and her brows furrows in apparent thought before moving to another.

 

But eventually the buzzer above sounds.

 

"Dammit," Sara curses under her breath. Absorbed in her art, Sara had completely forgotten about breakfast. "Don't move."

 

"But--"

 

"No buts, Maxine. I'll bring you back something to eat," Sara assures Max. She walks up to Max and outs a hand on both of Max's shoulders. "I promise." And she seals the promise with a kiss to Max's forehead.

 

Feeling her face begin to burn, Sara hastily exits her cell. As soon as she's out of Max's sight Sara leans back against the wall, covering her mouth with one hand.

 

 _"I can't believe you did that,"_ Sara scolds herself.

 

After taking a second to regain her composure, Sara makes her way to the cafeteria for breakfast. The farther Sara walks the more confidence she regains. By the time she reaches the table with her tray, her friends are taking notice.

 

“Well you’re awful chipper this morning,” Ashwood teases with a grin.

 

“Am I?” Sara grins back, feigning ignorance.

 

“I guess putting the hurt on Bertha really put some pep in your step, huh?”

 

“Oh…” Sara, who was just about to take her first bite, stops and turns somber as her plastic silverware is rested back on her tray. “You heard about that.”  
  
Hiko chirps up with a look of concern. “Are you okay, Sara?”

 

“I’m fine,” Sara tells her.

 

"Good," Ashwood says through a mouth of food immediately. She swallows and looks at Sara seriously. "You know we've got your back, right?"

 

Sara sighs in relief. “I do. Thank you.” Sara lets herself smile and takes a bite of her breakfast.

 

“So how’s the girl?” Ashwood looks up from her tray momentarily as she asks before diving right back in.

 

“About that…” Sara sounds hesitant as she eyes the muffin on her tray.

 

* * *

 

Max’s eyes just stare blankly ahead for a few moments. Did Sara just kiss her? Was she blushing? Max tries to wrap her head around the bizarre situation until the fog clears and she realizes she’s alone. After a few minutes of sitting perfectly still, Max feels like it's a safe enough bet that her captor… or savior… won’t be back for a bit.

 

So Max relaxes a bit. She stretches her back and her arms. Then she takes a deep breath and heaves a great sigh.

 

 _“Oh, Chloe,”_ Max sighs again, looking through the barred window, _“I hope you’re okay. Wherever you are.”_

 

Max sniffles a bit, trying to keep a brave face as she turns back to look at the pictures hanging on the grey wall in front of her. A creepy barn and beached whales. A shiver of unsettling familiarity runs down Max’s spine as she’s reminded of that first week with her powers.

 

 _“It feels like a lifetime ago,”_ Max thinks looking at the picture of the whales. Thinking about the timeline where Chloe had been paralyzed. _“I couldn’t let that happen again.”_

 

Turning her head, Max notices other pictures hanging on the wall closer to the door. Portraits of other inmates maybe? Turning even further, Max’s eye is caught by the portrait of a man above the cell door. Max’s breath hitches in her chest and her eyes slowly widen as Mark Jefferson’s smug face stares back at her.

 

 _“Shit.”_ And doubt that this Jefferson and the one Max knows are connected flees Max’s mind in that instant.

 

Suddenly footsteps sounded outside the cell. Max does her best to quickly return to the pose Sara had put her in before leaving. Just in time as Sara rounds the corner into the cell.

 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, little bird,” Sara smiles down at Max. She pulls something wrapped in napkins from her pocket and unwraps a muffin. “Banana nut. I hope you’re not allergic.” She holds it up under Max’s nose.

 

Max feels her mouth watering as the scent fills her nose. She doesn’t know when the last time this timeline’s Max ate was, but she knows that _she’s_ hungry. With a lick of her lips, Max reaches for the muffin in Sara's hand.

 

Suddenly Sara’s other hand comes across and backhands Max across the cheek. “Did I say you could move?” Sara shouts. Her brows furrow as she throws the muffin on the floor and stomps it into the concrete.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Max whimpers pathetically, her lip quivering.

 

“You should be.” Sara’s voice is a bit callous, upset even, as she folds her arms with her back turned to Max.

 

Max’s stomach growls loudly as Sara walks back across the room, sitting at the easel with a somewhat conflicted look on her face.

 

“I don’t want to hear another word until I say so,” Sara says as she lifts a pastel and goes back to work.

 

Max sighs, her eyes angling down to the muffin on the floor. Her stomach growls again. _“I_ need _to eat. If I pass out there’s no telling what she might do.”_

 

Squeezing her hand, Max activates her powers. Time reverses its course as Sara stands back up and walks over backwards. She turns back around and unstomps the muffin before it flies back up into her hand. Max keeps reversing time through the smack and all the way until just before Sara unwrapped the muffin.

 

“Banana nut. I hope you’re not allergic,” Sara smiles.

 

“I’m not. Thank you.” Max pauses nervously and licks her lips again. “May I eat it, Sara?”

 

Max’s docile tone piques Sara’s intrigue. She raises an eyebrow and tells her “You may, Maxine.”

 

Keeping her body as still as possible, Max bends her neck forward and takes a bite from the top of the muffin. Max hums as she savors the flavor before continuing to nibble at the muffin the older woman's hand.

 

“My, my,” Sara practically sings as a devilish grin forms on her face, “What an obedient little subject you’re proving to be.”

 

Max feels her face flush as some strange feelings roil in her chest. Just the muffin sticking, she assures herself. Regardless of the odd sensations, Max continues devouring the muffin from Sara’s hand until it's gone. When it is, Sara wipes Max’s mouth with the napkin and then wipes her hands with it before returning to her seat at the easel.

 

“Let’s continue, shall we Maxine?”

 

Max gives a quick nod and tries to smile. “Okay.”  
  
“No smiling,” Sara reminds her. “Neutral face.”  
  
Max drops her face back to neutral, sighing through her nose. Then she stays as still as possible as Sara continues working on the canvas. And Max waits. And waits. And waits some more. After what Max judges to be at least an hour, she finally feels the need to say something. Anything.

 

“Why do they let you have these art supplies?” Max asks.

 

“I told you not to speak, Maxine. Do I need to--”  
  
“Good behavior,” a thick Irish accent cuts Sara off. “Or so they say.”  
  
Max’s body freezes, her face growing concerned as she just keeps looking straight ahead at Sara.

 

“Please leave, Haley,” Sara says coldly. “Maxine is done with the Clovers. I do believe you made that abundantly clear.”

 

“Can’t a girl check up on a fellow lass of the Emerald Isle?” Haley quips with a grin.

 

"She's none of your concern, O'Haley. Nor that of the Clovers," Sara says calmly but firmly as she continues to work. "Not after yesterday."

 

“Aye,” Haley’s grin turns the other way. “I seen you already delivered that message to Bertha. _Hand_ delivered.”

 

Sara stops working, almost hesitantly. "That… savage… had it coming." She rests the pastel on the easel and turns to face Haley. "Now would you kindly leave us to our work?"

 

“Fine. Have it your way.” Haley shrugs. Then she looks at Max, still avoiding looking at her. “Be seeing you soon, Caulfield. Real soon.” Haley puts two fingers to her brow and flicks them toward Max before taking her leave.

 

As Haley leaves, Sara and Max both let out a sigh of relief. Max looks to Sara slightly worried, but Sara looks serious.

 

"Troglodyte," Sara mutters under her breath, shaking her head as she returns to her portrait-in-making. And somehow Max finds some small sense comfort in knowing that Haley is one of the so-called troglodytes that Sara refuses to let harm Max.

 

Still though, Max can't help but ruminate on Haley's words as Sara continues to paint with the pastels. The implied threat is all Max can think about until she realizes that Sara is humming again. Some strangely familiar tune that Max tries to focus on instead. And it helps the time pass a little less slowly.

 

Eventually the buzzer above rings to indicate it's time for another meal. Max shoots Sara a hopeful look but remains silent and in pose.

 

"Okay," Sara says, setting the pastel down and standing, "Let's get you something to eat before you pass out." Sara walks to the cell door and pulls the washcloth part way out of her pocket.

 

Max stays in pose, still looking toward where Sara had been seated. She gulps nervously, unsure of what to do.

 

Sara pauses, leaning against the cell door. “You may move now, Maxine.”

 

Max lets out a breath as her back leans forward. She stands and stretches a little before walking to Sara and taking the washcloth in her hand.

 

Sara grins with a dark chuckle. “I may be training you too well.”

 

Holding onto the cloth in Sara’s pocket, Max follows her down to the mess hall. Max stays close to Sara and followers her to the table holding her tray with one hand.

 

“Sit, Maxine,” Sara tells her. She gesticulates toward a seat at the table. “Enjoy your lunch.”

 

Max does as she’s told, sitting next to Sara. She tries to make herself as small as possible as she gobbles down her food. It's nowhere near as good as Blackwell’s cafeteria, but it's edible. Probably. Regardless of taste, Max makes short work of her lunch and reaches back to hold the washcloth and listens to her tablemates talk.

 

“She’s been very cooperative,” Sara says with an almost smirk. “Isn’t that right, Maxine?”

 

“Y-Yes,” Max stutters, looking down at her tray.

 

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s just shy,” Sara teases.

 

A low chuckle comes from across the table. "Maybe I can take her off your hands?" Max snaps up to look at the woman flipping her black hair out of her face. She takes a pack of cigarettes from her front pocket and slides them across the table to Sara. Max's eyes go wide as Sara picks the pack up and starts humming in thought.

 

“Hmm,” Sara hums, a small smirk forming at the corner of her lip. “I don’t think so, Ashwood. She’s worth more to me than that.” Sara’s hand creeps up the back of Max’s back to give a little squeeze at the nap. “Much, _much_ more.”

 

Max, initially relieved that Sara wasn’t going to trade her for a pack of cigarettes, stiffens back up at the squeeze. The hand retreats but thoughts still worm into Max’s brain as she waits patiently for the rest of Sara’s group to finish eating.

 

Sara wipes her mouth and pushes the tray away, turning to Max. “Maxine,” she starts, “Be a dear and bus our trays, won’t you?”

 

Silently nodding, Max stacks Sara’s tray on top of hers and stands. She hesitates for a moment, craning her neck to find the garbage before starting in that direction. She only makes it to the end of the long table when a terrifying shriek pierces her ears. Max whips around to see Sara lying on her back on the bench with Bertha standing over her. One of Sara’s hands goes up to defend herself, the other holds a growing red splotch on her side.

 

Max freezes, staring in shock. Until Bertha turns her glare to Max. Her eyes are so full of hate but her mouth is a wicked, terrible, twisted smile. Max's entire body trembles as a strange feeling grows in her belly. Sadness. Anger. Rage. Sorrow. A white-hot boiling cauldron of righteous fury for the one woman that's done anything at all to protect Max since she came to this timeline.

 

“You bitch!” Max shouts as she beings marching toward Bertha. Trays in one hand, Max raises the other and reverses time as she continues marching. Bertha reaches down to pull the shank from Sara’s side and stands back up. Sara sits back up in her seat. Bertha walks backwards away from Sara. When Bertha is a few steps away Max lets go of her hold on time.

 

"Don't touch her, you bitch!" Max booms as she suddenly appears between Sara and Bertha. She raises the trays up with both hands and brings them down on Bertha's shank hand. A loud crack is heard over the sound of the metal bang.

 

“Oh, fuck!” Bertha yells, “You broke my wrist, you little shit!” Bertha growls and starts at Max.

 

Max raises the trays up high again and slams them down on Bertha’s head as hard as she can. Bertha crumbles backwards and Max drops to her knees, gritting her teeth and holding back tears.

 

“Maxine!” Sara calls out above the roar, rushing to Max’s side. “What happened?”

 

“I couldn’t…” Max’s body rocks with a heaving sob. “I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

 

Sara looks down and sees the shank the floor next to Bertha. Before she can process any part of what just happened, the air raid klaxon screams and a group of armored guards rush in.

 

“Everybody freeze!” the leader of the guard phalanx shouts.

 

Sara drops to her knees lies on her stomach next to Max. Not sure what to do, Max lies on her stomach too.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Max wakes up to the sound of cell doors banging open. For the first time in weeks, she doesn't remember having dreamed. Out on the catwalk, she looks left to Sara and nods. Sara returns the nod and they stand for the prisoner count. All present and accounted for, Sara and Max head for the showers.

 

“Keep going,” Sara commands as Max slows down for Sara to catch up.

 

Max doesn’t turn around but does keep a faster pace. When Max’s turn to enter the showers eventually comes, she strips with just a bit more confidence. Not enough to not try to cover herself with her hands, though. But there’s more confidence. Confidence in herself or confidence that people will be afraid to mess with Sara’s property she doesn’t know. What she does know is that the shower feels good. So good that she closes her eyes and lets herself get lost in the slightly warm water.

 

“You didn’t forget about me, did you, Max?” A familiar voice worms it's way into Max’s ear. Chloe.

 

 _“Never, Chloe. I could never,”_ Max replies in her thoughts.

 

“Good,” Chloe continues. “I miss you, Max.”

 

Max sighs, smiling at the voice. _“I miss you too, Chloe. So much. I just want to see you again. I want to_ feel _you again.”_

 

Chloe’s voice giggles. “I want to feel you too.”

 

A hand lays itself on Max’s hip, gliding over her skin until it cups her belly. A second hand snakes around from the other side as a tall, slender body gently presses into Max’s back. Kisses land on the back of Max’s neck as breasts press into her.

 

“Mmm. Chloe,” Max sighs blissfully, her voice drowned out by the rushing water.

 

One of the hands slowly slides up Max’s belly, higher and higher until the fingers find their way between Max’s arm and her chest. Max’s arm raises enough to let the hand between and it gently gropes at Max’s breast. The other hand holds Max and slowly pulls her back into the body behind her, which Max just melts into.

 

More kisses come to Max’s neck and are soon joined by small nibbles and grazing teeth. Slowly the hand on Max’s belly descends below her waist into her fine, brown curls. Max gasps, drawing in a surprised breath. The hand pauses and the kisses stop, as if waiting for permission to continue. Max, with visions of Chloe swirling around her head, bites her lip and gives a simple nod. The hand continues downward and the kisses resume. When the fingers hand finally finds what they’re looking for, they begin playing Max like a delicate instrument.

 

Completely overwhelmed - physically by the hands and mouth and overall presence of the body behind her, as well as mentally by the sights and sounds of Chloe, Max has no chance. Not even a minute passes before Max’s body shudders in ecstasy. Despite her best attempts to stifle herself by biting her lip, a very audible moan sounds from Max’s mouth.

 

“Hey!” A harsh voice barks, breaking Max from her trance, “Break it up, break it up!”

 

Max’s eyes shoot open. When she looks down, she realizes that the arm around her doesn’t have Chloe’s tattoo. It isn’t Chloe at all. Throwing the arms off of her, Max turns around to face Sara Jefferson’s grin.

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Maxine,” Sara grins.

 

Max just stares at her, trying to wrap her head around everything, until the guard who shouted at them walks over and turns the water off.

 

“Get the fuck back to your cellblock,” she said, pointing to the dressing room.

 

Sara walks confidently across the showers and into the changing room, the grin still plastered smugly on her face. Max follows close behind, her beet red face looking down at the floor. Dressed in matching orange jumpsuits, Max holds the washcloth in Sara’s pocket on the way back to the cell. Sitting as close as possible to yesterday’s pose, Max sits still so Sara can paint her.

 

After a while, Sara stops, pulling her pastel from the canvas and leaning out a bit to get a better look at Max. “Did you not enjoy yourself, Maxine?”

 

“I…” Max pauses as her face burns with her blush. She can’t help but avert her gaze and turn her face to the floor.

 

“Ah,” Sara corrects her, “Posture.”  
  
Max looks back up at her. “I thought you were someone else...”

 

Sara sighs, but forces a smile. “It must have been someone very special.”

 

Max gives a small nod before putting her head back in place.

 

Sara returns a small hum, continuing her work on the canvas. She can’t help but huff a short laugh. “Because you took to me like a fish to water.”  
  
Max’s face burns with embarrassment. There’s a long silence after that before Sara speaks again.

 

“You’re such a good model, Maxine,” Sara says with a warm smile. “I want you to know that.

 

A small flood of warmth touches inside Max’s chest as she replies with a quiet “Thank you, Sara.”

 

Before long, the breakfast buzzer sounds and Max and Sara make their way down and grab their food.

 

“Eat quickly,” Sara says, “The faster we get back the better.”  
  
Max gobbles her food down, not even needing the instruction to eat quickly. Sara eats quickly as well, not bothering to converse.

 

“Y’know,” Ashwood says to Max, “You’re pretty lucky you didn’t get pinched for knocking Bertha out.”  
  
“You mean I’m lucky I had Maxine to protect me,” Sara says as Max clams up.

 

Ashwood gives a conciliatory laugh. “That too.”

 

Sara takes her leave with Max in tow. Back up to Sara’s cell for more painting in silence, save for Sara’s hum. At least for a while.

 

“Something’s different about you, Maxine,” Sara says, never stopping her hand on the canvas.

 

Max’s chest tightens nervously. “What do you mean?” she asks.

 

“The day Haley sent you to the infirmary,” Sara explains. “Something changed. I could see it in your eyes.”

 

 _“The day I came to this timeline.”_ Max’s eyes snapped to the pictures behind Sara. The barn. The whales. _“She can’t know, can she? She can’t.”_ Max gulps.

 

“My eyes?” Max questions.

 

“Your eyes,” Sara repeats. “I saw the innocence in your eyes die that day. Just before Haley knocked you unconscious.”

 

Max’s heart drops in her chest. _“There’s no way.”_

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Max lies. She knows. She just hopes that Sara doesn’t know.

 

"Don't lie to me, Maxine," Sara snaps back. "But more importantly, don't apologize. One of the..." Sara pauses to clear her throat, "Advantages of prison portraiture… I can capture that fleeting innocence."Max feels herself get a little lightheaded, recalling the words of Mark Jefferson. "I'm obsessed with the idea of capturing that moment innocence evolves into corruption," Mark's words reverberate in Max's head.

 

As if to save her, a guard shouts through the open cell door. "Caulfield! Visitor."Max looks to Sara expectantly. After an approving nod, Max follows the guard out of the cell block and down a long series of corridors to a small room with a single table and three chairs, two on one side and one on the other. Max is sat in the single chair, then shackled to the table.

 

 _“Who’s visiting? Mom? Dad?”_ Max wonders as she waits. _“I wonder if they’ve_ ever _visited.”_ Suddenly a buzzer sounds and a door opens, prompting Max to swing around. _“Oh, shit.”_

 

Joyce walks into the room and takes the seat across from Max.

 

Max just looks at her, doing her best to hold back the flood of emotions. “Joyce… I… I…” Max’s hands ball into fists on the table.

 

Joyce puts her hands on Max’s, holding tightly. “Thank you, Max. Thank you for saving Chloe’s life.”

 

Max’s lip quivers speechlessly as she looks up at Joyce, tears still welling in her eyes.

 

“You saved her from that boy, Max,” Joyce reaffirms, tearing up herself. “I can’t thank you enough for that.”

 

Max’s chest rises and falls as she tries to breathe. “Where is Chloe?” Max finally chokes the words out.

 

Joyce looks down at the table, squeezing Max’s hands. “She… Chloe can’t see you right now, Max. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

 

Max wails as she feels her heart break in two. “Chlo-ee!” Max wails, burying her head in her arms.

 

“Shh, shh,” Joyce tries to soothe as she strokes Max’s head. “It’ll be okay, hon. You’ll see her before you know it.” And in her typical mother fashion, Joyce continues to whisper and coo, doing her best to settle Max down. And eventually it works.

 

With Max calmed down, she and Joyce talk at length about Chloe. Joyce tells Max everything she can think of to get her caught up on her once-best friend’s life. But when the topic broaches Rachel Amber, Joyce and Max are both thankful for the guard’s interruption to tell them time is up.

 

“Joyce?” Max asks, the guard lifting her as an idea suddenly sparks into her head.

 

“Yes, Max?”

 

“Next time, can you bring your photo album?” Max’s eyes plead with her.

 

“Sure, Max,” Joyce smiles weakly, drained.

 

On the way back to the cellblock the lunch buzzer sounds so Max goes there. Finding Sara, she eats quickly so they can go back to her cell.

 

“Nice visit?” Sara inquires as Max poses herself.

 

“Yeah,” Max smiles. It was nice to see Joyce, but even more Max is excited for the prospect of the photo album. Her chance for escape. “Really good.”

 

“Good,” Sara says. “Now as much as I just love to see that pretty smile of yours, Maxine, I still need your face.”  
  
Max sighs only a little as she forces her face back into a neutral look.

 

“But,” Sara adds with a smile, “I _am_ happy for you.”

 

Continuing into the afternoon and well into the evening, with breaks only for lunch and to use the bathroom, Max sits while Sara marks her canvas. And for the first time, Sara makes a bit of small talk and allows Max to reply. Eventually the call for lights out comes and Max goes back to her cell.

 

Staring up at the ceiling, Max tries to make a plan in her head. _“The photo album. I can jump… almost anywhere. But how do I fix this?”_ Max wracks her brain in the dark until she eventually succumbs to the calls of sleep.

 

Max's dreams are plagued with unsettling visions and voices. Those of Chloe. And Sara.

 

“I think you liked it, Max,” Sara’s face grins, teasing Max.

 

Suddenly Sara's face warps, morphing into Chloe's. "Oh, she _definitely_ liked it,” Chloe says.

 

“Because she thought it was you?” Sara’s voice asks as Chloe’s face turns into Sara’s.

 

“I don’t think so,” Chloe’s voice sings-songs, as the face morphs between Sara and Chloe again, giggling as it switches back and forth..

 

Suddenly the loud clanging of the cell doors wakes Max with a deep gasp, her eyes shooting open to stare at the grey concrete ceiling again as another day begins in Pine Bay Correctional Facility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. This was basically the bulk of Best Intentions's chapter 8 "Hard Time (Arcadia Prison Blues)". For those of you who've read Best Intentions I'm sure you're asking yourselves "gorillas, why did you stop there? why not just rewrite the entire chapter?". And the answer is simple. The chapter from Best Intentions was limited by the story itself. No other timeline had gotten more than one chapter and "Hard Time" wasn't going to be the exception. So near the end I did a timeskip copout of "over the next several weeks." So those next several weeks are something I hope to explore in the next chapter. 
> 
> Oh and if you're interested in following me on Twitter for updates on fics and my SFM art, you can follow me on Twitter at @WildBillSFM or this link: https://twitter.com/WildBillSFM


End file.
